Shadow Ranch
by Elizabeth Joan-hbndgirl
Summary: Territory of Arizona, 1875 - Nancy is headed to visit Bess and George in their new home at Shadow Ranch. She arrives just in time to investigate a murder. Could it be part of a land dispute? Is it the work of the outlaws that are plaguing the area? Or could it be another reason? After all, not everything is as it seems on Shadow Ranch. Western AU.
1. Prologue

J.M.J.

_Author's Note: Welcome to _Shadow Ranch,_ my latest entry in the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew fanfiction world! Thanks for dropping in and I hope you will enjoy the story!_

_Before we get started, I wanted to make a few notes. First off, this is obviously not the sequel to _The Ruby Pendant_ that I have hinted at. That story is on hold, pending inspiration. In the meantime, I've been thinking about writing this story for a long time (almost as long as I've been on this site), and I think that now would be a good time, as all my inspiration is for this story at the moment. That being said, it's not finished yet, but then I have yet to wait until I actually finish a story to start posting it. In the interest of helping me keep my sanity, I will only be posting a chapter a week on Friday to begin with. Later, once the story is completely finished, I may speed up the posting schedule. With such a long wait between chapters, I will be making each chapter longer than is usual with my stories and also do my best to resist the urge to end every chapter with a cliffhanger (but I don't promise to always be successful on that score ;) )._

_Secondly, as you probably already realize from reading the summary, this is an AU that takes place in the year 1875 in Arizona. If that isn't your thing, I totally understand. It's not the most AU-ish of all AU's, though; it's basically just the same ol' Nancy, Frank, and Joe that we all know and love solving a mystery in a different setting._

_Did I just mention that Frank and Joe are in this story? They absolutely are and they have big parts, but Nancy is the main character and thus most of the story is told from her POV. Even so, I intend this to be a long story and I will take my time and slow down to explore the different characters. In order to do them all justice, I've had to pare down the number of chums who will appear. Out of Nancy's friends, Bess, George, and Ned will all appear, and out of the Hardys' friends, it will just be Chet and Iola. It's not that I have anything against the characters I have cut; it's just that I need to give myself time to do everyone full justice. As far as ages and relationships go, everyone is a year younger than they are in canon (so Nancy and Frank are seventeen and Joe is sixteen). No one is dating anybody at the beginning of the story (unless otherwise stated), but there will be a relationship or two in bloom by the end. As always, though, everything in that department is rated K (I'm just not comfortable writing anything more than that)._

_Finally, this is __**not**__ a rewrite of the book_ The Secret of Shadow Ranch_; __**however,**__ it does use characters from both the book and the PC game as well as from the books _The Sky Phantom_ and _The Sign of the Crooked Arrow_. In fact, I am practically solely using characters from those four sources. In fact, unless the character is unnamed or makes only a very, very small appearance or is the murder victim, they are from one of those four sources. So, essentially, there are no OCs in this story, though several of the canon characters had to be fleshed out quite a bit. This story also uses several plot points from the story of Frances Humber and Dirk Valentine as revealed in both the book and the game of _The Secret of Shadow Ranch_, but it doesn't follow the same road all the way through and that is more of a subplot than the main storyline. The main storyline is a murder mystery, but it won't be until the end of the second chapter that the murder will take place._

_All that being said, I once again hope that you enjoy the story and I thank you in advance for reading and/or following/favoriting/reviewing! Without further ado, I present to you:_

_**Shadow Ranch**_

To: Miss Nancy Drew

c/o Mr. Carson Drew

River Heights, State of Illinois

From: Miss Elizabeth Marvin

Shadow Ranch

Dry Creek, Territory of Arizona

May 12, 1875

Dear Nancy,

After all the times I have said that I wished I could leave River Heights and see more of the world, I can hardly believe now how much I miss everything about River Heights. I miss the parks and the terrible, little railroad station, and seeing Chief McGinnis ride around on his horse. I miss rowing boats on the Muskoka River. I miss the shops (even though I always thought they were awful while I still lived there). I miss my old house. Most of all, I miss you and my parents and Uncle Tom and Aunt Louise. It just isn't fair that one day, everything was normal and familiar and boring and then the next day, with just a single telegram, everything that I ever thought was permanent in my life was taken away. I'll never forget that terrible day, when George and I were told about the accident. Then, just because we don't have any other relatives living near River Heights, we had to go all the way to Arizona to live with an aunt and uncle we've never even met before and stay with them on a cattle ranch in the middle of the desert! We even had to ride a train, and I was terrified the whole time. I know trains don't crash very often, but one time was enough to

George found me crying at my desk while I was writing that. She made me go out and take a walk with her to cheer up, and I do feel better now. She also told me to tear up what I had written and start over, but I will not. I know it is probably not fair, but I want you to know how I am really feeling. Anyway, if I was still in River Heights or if you were here, I would be telling you all of this in person, but since I cannot do that, a letter is the next best thing.

While I am writing about George, I should say that I would have never survived the last three months without her. She has been so wonderful to me. It seems like every time I really need someone to talk to, she is right there. I am not sure how she knows I need her right then, but she does. She has even gotten much better at knowing just when to tease me than she ever used to be. She hardly ever makes me feel bad about eating too much or trying too hard to be pretty – instead, she only teases me to cheer me up. I am sad about Uncle Tom and Aunt Louise, of course, but I am very glad that George is here with me.

Just so you do not think everything about Shadow Ranch is terrible and that my life is a perfect pit of misery now, I should tell you that I actually like the West much more than I ever thought I would. The landscape is so beautiful. It is a wild and rugged and even harsh kind of beauty, but even the desert can look lovely at the right time of day. I also like the name – Shadow Ranch. Some people say that the ranch was named after a mountain that is on the border of the ranch and is called Shadow Mountain, but other people say that the ranch was named that first because it is in the shadow of the mountain, and then the mountain was named after the ranch. I think the latter sounds more romantic, so I shall hope that that is the true story.

I should tell you all about Shadow Ranch. The ranch itself belongs to a man named Sheriff Humber. He has not been sheriff in Dry Creek (which is the nearest town, even though it is still a long way away) for very long, and before that he was just a rancher. Shadow Ranch is one of the biggest ranches around here (the other two are Crowhead Ranch, which belongs to a woman named Ruth Hardy, and the other is just called the Hamilton Ranch because it belongs to a man whom everyone around here calls Pop Hamilton). Now that Sheriff Humber has all the extra responsibilities of being the sheriff, he had to hire a foreman to run the ranch for him. Uncle Ed is, of course, the foreman. He has a lot of experience working cattle and he knew Sheriff Humber slightly before hand, so it was not such a surprise that Sheriff Humber offered him this job.

I should also say that Uncle Ed and Aunt Bet have been wonderful to us. They do not have any children of their own, and so even though Aunt Bet (her real name is Elizabeth, like mine, but, also like me, she thinks it sounds stuffy and would rather be called something else) is heartbroken about her sisters (my mother, George's mother, and her were all sisters), she is very excited that George and I get to be like daughters for her. She knows that she cannot take our real mothers' places, too, and so she is trying not to overwhelm us.

Because Uncle Ed is the foreman, he and Aunt Bet live right in the main ranch house. There are a lot of extra bedrooms, and so George and I also live in the main ranch house. The only other people who do are Sheriff Humber, his daughter Frances, and the cook, Shorty Thurmond. All the cattlehands live in the bunk houses outside. Sheriff Humber said that it was only fair if George and I "pulled our own weight", as he put it, and so George and I have been doing what we can, which is mostly tending to the garden (you would not believe how much water we have to carrying from the water pump to put on the garden) and cleaning the house. Aunt Bet and Frances do a lot of the same work, but they are also good at riding horses and help with the cattle at a pinch. In fact, one of the first nights we were here, there was a terrible storm that spooked the cattle and they broke through the fence onto the neighboring ranch (that would be Crowhead Ranch, and it was really a problem because Mrs. Hardy does not get along with Sheriff Humber – I am not sure why not). Most of the cowhands were on other parts of the ranch, and the only ones here were Sheriff Humber, Uncle Ed, the cook, Aunt Bet, Frances, George, and I. Aunt Bet and Frances saddled their horses right up and went out with the men to help round the cattle up. Naturally, George and I have been practicing riding horses ever since. George is really good at it, and even I am not terrible at it.

I should tell you about Frances, but she is a little hard to describe. She reminds me a lot of you, actually, in some ways. She lost her mother when she was really young, like you did, but she is really smart. She reads a lot of books, and she is good at a lot of things, from riding horses to knitting. She is a little bit prideful about her accomplishments, I think, and she does not seem to get on well with her father. Those things do not remind me of you, of course. I get on with her well enough, but George does not. George can hardly stand to be in the same room as her.

One particularly nice part of Shadow Ranch that I was a little worried about at first is the cowboys. Most of them are old enough to be my father, but they are very respectful. There are a handful or so who are younger, not much older than us. Two of these, in particular, are also very handsome. Their names are Bud Moore and Dave Gregory. Mr. Gregory is not too friendly toward George and me (I think he does not care much for "Easterners", as he called us, even though I tried to explain to him that Illinois is not actually in the East). Bud, however, is very friendly. (You do not think it is too forward for me to call him "Bud" already, do you? He asked me to. I think he might fancy me.) There is another who is not so very old (probably around twenty-five or so) who is definitely not friendly. His name is Tex Britten, and I have never met such an unfriendly man in my entire life.

There was one other unexpected benefit of coming out here to live. A distant cousin of ours, Ross Regor, and his daughter, Alice, also live near here. Uncle Ross (as we call him – as I just said, he is a distant cousin of some sort rather than an uncle) is an artist and paints the loveliest landscape of the area around here that you have ever seen. That does not pay much, of course, so he also works as a banker in Tumbleweed (which is another town that is not quite so horrendously far away as most towns). Alice is a few years younger than George and me, but it is nice to get to know her a little.

I wish you could come and visit us, Nancy. I can hardly believe it has been nearly three months since we left River Heights, not knowing if we would ever get to actually see you again. I keep hoping that your father will agree to let you visit soon. If he does not, George and I are saving our money (Sheriff Humber pays us twenty-five cents a day to help around the ranch house – he would pay us more if we helped with the cattle) to come and visit you as soon as you can. That is one good thing about living so far away from town – there are a lot less chances to spend my money.

Write to me soon! I miss you.

Ever your friend,

Bess

P.S. (May 13) Sheriff Humber wanted to enclose a letter to your father in the same envelope. I am not sure what it is about, but if somehow he is inviting you to come visit, please do! B.M.


	2. Chapter I

J.M.J.

_Author's Note: It's (almost) Friday, and since I will be busy tomorrow, I'm going to go ahead and post the first actual chapter today. Thank you so much for reading it! In particular, I am very grateful to Cherylann Rivers, angelicalkiss, and Drumboy100 for their reviews on the Prologue! Enjoy!_

**Chapter I**

The hot air in the streets of Phoenix almost felt cool after the long, hot, stuffy train ride all the way from River Heights, Illinois. It had already been a long trip, and even seventeen-year-old Nancy Drew was ready to find herself at her journey's end. She was longing to stretch her cramped legs and was hoping that it would be a nice, long walk to the hotel.

"Well, what do you think about the West so far?" her father, Carson Drew, asked as he, too, stepped off the train.

Nancy looked about her before she answered. The hot, dry wind was scattering the dust of the streets while both men and women – on foot or on horseback or in carts – were bustling about their business.

"It's not quite what I expected," Nancy admitted, brushing a strand of strawberry-blonde hair back into place after the wind had blown it over her cheek. "It's bigger, and there are more people and buildings than I thought. It's also a lot drier."

Carson chuckled. "It's too bad Bess and George's aunt and uncle don't live in Montana. That might fit your picture of the West better, and I know the weather would suit me better."

Nancy agreed and then she grinned. "You know, there's one other thing, too. We came all this way, and the train wasn't held up once."

Carson shook his head, trying to hide the grin on his own face. "_That_ is a part of the West I can do without."

They chuckled over the joke for a few more moments. An ordinary traveler in the Territory of Arizona in the year 1875 probably wouldn't have found anything humorous in the exchange, for the possibility of robbery was a very real danger to them. The Drews, however, weren't ordinary travelers in this regard. Danger and adventures seemed to follow them wherever they went. It wasn't entirely by chance, though. Between Carson's career as a lawyer and Nancy's amateur career as a detective, they did more than their share of looking for trouble.

However, the only mystery involved in this trip was why a man by the name of Meryl Humber had retained a lawyer from all the way in Illinois to represent him in a lawsuit. No doubt, Humber had heard about Carson Drew from Nancy's friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne, though that didn't entirely answer the question. Bess and George were cousins and Nancy's closest friends. They had grown up together in River Heights, but several months earlier, both sets of the cousins' parents had been killed in a train accident. Since neither girl had yet reached her eighteenth birthday or had relatives living nearby, they had had to go to Arizona to live with their aunt Bet and uncle Ed Rawley. Uncle Ed was the foreman at Shadow Ranch, which was owned by the newly elected sheriff of Dry Creek, Meryl Humber. It seemed that Sheriff Humber was attempting to sue a Ruth Hardy over who owned a piece of land that lay on the border of Shadow Ranch and Ruth's land, Crowhead Ranch. He had sent a letter to Carson, requesting the lawyer to represent him.

Ordinarily, Carson wouldn't have agreed to such a strange request and would have instead advised Humber to seek legal help that was closer by. However, reasons to come to Arizona were few and far between, and Carson knew that Nancy would like to visit her friends. For that matter, Carson was eager for an adventure or two himself.

"Well, let's not stand her all day," Carson said after he and his daughter had taken a few more moments to survey their new surroundings. "Since we have to finish this trip by stagecoach, we'll have to wire Sheriff Humber to let him know when we'll be arriving. After that, we can find a hotel."

"All right," Nancy agreed, though not without a good-natured sigh. "I think I will sleep very well tonight. Who would have thought you could get so tired just from riding on a train?

"Anyone who has taken a train trip that lasted over several days, for one." Carson offered Nancy a hand to help her down from the train platform.

They asked for directions to the stagecoach office and were glad to learn that it was only a few blocks away – just far enough to awaken their tired legs without putting too much of an extra strain on them.

The man at the window of the stagecoach office gave them a bright smile, especially Nancy, which made both Drews uncomfortable. "How can I help you today, sir?" he asked. He was obviously addressing Carson, but his eyes were on Nancy, who stepped a little behind her father.

Carson cleared his threat and finally the clerk met his eyes. "Yes. My daughter and I would like to buy tickets to Dry Creek on the first available stagecoach tomorrow."

"We don't have any stages go to Dry Creek," the clerk informed him. "Tumbleweed is the closest we can get to there. Once you arrive, you can probably hire a rig to get you the rest of the way. Wouldn't take more than a few more hours."

Carson tightened his jaw in annoyance and glanced at Nancy. She gave him a sympathetic smile and said, "That's another part of the West that was should have expected but didn't."

"True." Carson relaxed and turned back to the clerk. "All right. We'll take two tickets on the first stage to Tumbleweed, then. When will that stage leave?"

"Nine o'clock tomorrow morning," the clerk replied. "That will put you in Tumbleweed at around four in the afternoon on Friday, barring any trouble."

"Friday?" Carson repeated. "But tomorrow is Wednesday."

"So it is," the clerk agreed. "Takes close to three days to get from here to Tumbleweed."

This was unwelcome to the Drews who had thought that their journey would be over the next day.

"The stagecoach does stop at night, doesn't it?" Nancy asked.

"Certainly, ma'am." The clerk's broad, unnerving grin returned as he looked at her. "There are rest stops along the way and they'll put you up there. Might not be the most comfortable quarters you've ever had, but it's better than nothing."

Carson paid for the tickets, resisting the urge to grumble about it, and then he and Nancy headed toward the telegraph office. As they went, Nancy glanced over her shoulder at the clerk and found he was gazing steadily at her. She shuddered.

"I just remembered something else I've heard about the West," Nancy told her father in a low voice. "I've been told there are a lot more men out here than women and that some of the men are desperate to find wives. I hope that doesn't mean that they'll all be like that clerk and stare at me like I was a different species."

"They had better not," Carson replied. "If any of them try anything, let me know right away and I'll settle them."

"Yes, sir," Nancy agreed with a mock salute. "Just so long as you don't try to start a gunfight with any of them." Then she smiled. The strange clerk wasn't worth giving any more time or thought to.

With the latest development about the stagecoach, Carson wasn't quite sure what to tell Sheriff Humber about their arrival time. He felt that since they were here at Humber's invitation, he ought to send someone to pick them up in Tumbleweed, but it seemed too forward to demand it. In the end, Carson judged it best to just send their arrival time in Tumbleweed and leave it up to the sheriff what he would do about it.

The hotel was comfortable, and Nancy found her feather bed to be the most pleasant part of her journey so far. She felt a little nervous that there might be some scoundrels about who would have the same sort of ideas as the stagecoach clerk seemed to have and be more bold in carrying them out, but the lock on her door worked well and she slept soundly.

It would not be true to say that the next few days of travel were pleasant in any way. Though the stagecoach had springs, it still bumped and jolted until Nancy felt like she was bruised all over. Both she and Carson felt a bit sick by the end of the first day, but whether it was from the incessant jolting, the heavy dust that they couldn't help breathing even with handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses, or the intense heat, they couldn't be sure.

The next stop that they spent the first night in was hardly more than a board shack. There were only two bedrooms in it, one for the men and one for the women. Nancy was more fortunate than her father in this, as there was only one other woman on the stage, and so Nancy didn't even have to share a bed with anyone. She was a little alarmed to find herself considering this a luxury.

Breakfast the next morning was a plate of lukewarm beans and a few strips of bacon. If she had not been so hungry, Nancy would have found the unappetizing meal much more difficult to eat.

"Let's be going before the day is over," the stage driver shouted through the open door with the rising sun behind him.

Nancy laughed wryly as her father took several quick bites to try to finish up what was left of his meager breakfast. "You said you wanted an adventure," she reminded him.

"Did I say that?" Carson asked. "I might have to eat those words before we get to Shadow Ranch."

"It will probably taste better than those beans," Nancy whispered and they both laughed.

Despite the less than ideal conditions, the Drews managed to keep their spirits up for the rest of that day. When the next morning dawned, bringing with it the promise of the end of their long journey, they were positively cheery. They even managed to make light of the dust and the heat, with Nancy joking that she probably wouldn't even recognize herself in a mirror.

The afternoon sun was just beginning to make its descent toward the western horizon and the sleepy passengers were dozing as well as they could, when they were startled awake by the sound of a shot and then several more shots.

"What was that?" asked the other woman passenger besides Nancy, although it was clear to all of them what it was.

"Everyone stay calm," one of the men advised. He had introduced himself at the beginning of the journey (this part of the journey, anyway) as Mr. Dawson. "If no one tries to be a hero and we all just do as they say, chances are they won't hurt us."

Nancy leaned toward the window to try to see out. Three horsemen with bandanas covering their faces were riding toward the stagecoach.

Carson pulled Nancy back away from the window. "What do you think you're doing?"

The masked riders got around to the front of the stage and forced it to stop. Once the vehicle was no longer in motion, one of the robbers ordered the passengers out in a gruff voice – a little too gruff, Nancy thought; it could be disguised.

"Now, anyone with a gun, toss it out in front of you," the robber ordered.

All the male passengers who had guns complied, some more reluctantly than others. Another of the robbers, who had been silent thus far, gathered up the firearms.

Then the one who had spoken before gave his next order. "Now I want all your valuables and money, so hand it all over."

"This is a waste of your time," the driver spoke up as he climbed down from his seat at the orders of the robbers. "The passengers don't have anything much of value on them."

"Maybe or maybe not," the robber replied. "It will only be an extra benefit if they do, anyway. This stage is the one that carries the payroll for Brady's Mining Company. I want that, too."

The driver's shoulders slumped, and Nancy felt her pulse quicken. She wondered if, for such an important cargo as a payroll, whether the driver would be obligated to fight to defend it. She hoped not. She had only been joking when she had said she was disappointed at not having been held up on the way here. Now that that had happened, she really didn't want to be in the middle of a gunfight, too.

The passengers all began handing over their belongings. They seemed to have taken Mr. Dawson's advice to cooperate to heart. While this was happening, Nancy took the opportunity to get as good a look at the robbers as she could. Only one had spoken, and that probably in a disguised voice, and they all had their faces covered, but there was still quite a bit that could be determined about them.

The one who had spoken was probably the leader, Nancy decided. It was hard to tell for sure since he was on horseback, but Nancy thought he was tall. He was certainly lanky. There was a lock of hair plastered down on his forehead by sweat. It looked dark, but it was probably only because it was wet. In actuality, Nancy determined that it was likely sandy-colored. She couldn't see his eyes from this far away, but they seemed to be dark. His horse was a bay with a blaze down its face. It had a brand on its left hip of an H with a line over it.

Nancy had gotten a better look at the desperado who had taken the guns and the valuables. He was shorter than his leader, but no less skinny. He had come close enough that Nancy could see that he had dark hair under his hat and brown eyes, and judging from the wrinkles around his eyes, he was probably not particularly young. His horse was a sorrel with a lop-sided star on its forehead and white stockings on three of its legs.

It was the third man who particularly caught Nancy's attention. He was tall and well-built, neither fat nor skinny. Even though the lower part of his face was covered by his bandana, Nancy thought that he must be young and handsome. He had bright blue eyes that Nancy could see plainly, even when he was sitting on his horse, and his rich black hair hung down a little way past his hat. His horse was no less impressive. It was tall and thick with a flowing mane and tail and a coat as white as new-fallen snow. Its bridle was studded with silver and handing down over its forehead was a heart made of silver. Nancy wondered why an outlaw would dare to ride such a flashy and recognizable horse.

It took several minutes for Nancy to commit all these details to memory. By that time, the robbers had taken everything that they wanted. The passengers shifted themselves in anxious anticipation, wondering if the outlaws would now let them go or if they would pose a further threat.

Without warning, the outlaw whom Nancy had guessed to be the leader raised his revolver in the air and fired off two shots. Since the driver had already climbed down, the horses were without his guidance, and they threw up their heads bolted in fright.

"What do you think you're doing?" Although any of the passengers or the driver might have shouted this, Nancy was a little surprised to discover that it actually came from the outlaw with the impressive horse. His voice betrayed the fact that he was young, just as Nancy had thought. "There was no need for that," he added, speaking a little more softly though still with a distinct edge to his voice.

"How are we going to get to town now?" the driver demanded.

"We'll all die if we have to walk to town in this heat and with no water," the woman passenger said.

"No, ma'am," the impressive outlaw assured her. "The Crowhead Ranch isn't more than a mile or two southeast of here. You'll be able to walk there in an hour or so. It won't be fun, but you won't die. I'm terribly sorry about this."

"If you were so worried about inconveniencing us, you shouldn't have robbed us in the first place," Carson spoke up.

None of the outlaws responded. The impressive outlaw handed his canteen to the woman passanger. Then all three outlaws reined up their horses and headed off in the direction they had come from, leaving their victims stranded under the hot desert sun.


	3. Chapter II

J.M.J.

_Author's Note: Hi, everybody! Happy weekend! Thank you for reading this next chapter! Thank you especially to angelicalkiss, Rose12, Drumboy100, and Cherylann Rivers for your reviews on chapter 1!_

**Chapter II**

It was a dusty, hot, and tired party who were making their way cross country toward the Crowhead Ranch. The stagecoach driver had said that he was familiar with the area and knew a shortcut, but as the hot, slow minutes dragged by at what seemed ten times their allotted length, more than one of the passengers wondered whether they wouldn't have been better off following the road.

"Crowhead Ranch is Ruth Hardy's ranch, isn't it?" Nancy asked her father. She was trying to think about something – anything – besides how hot and thirsty she was.

"That's right." Carson smiled ruefully. "This will be a little uncomfortable if the woman that my client is trying to sue ends up saving our lives."

"True," Nancy agreed. "I hope more than ever now that you'll be able to convince them to come to a settlement outside of court."

"I'll do my best on that score, of course," Carson said. "It's better for everyone to be able to settle their differences without dragging a judge into it. Still, until I know more about the situation, it will be hard to say whether I'll have any luck on that score."

After that, they fell silent again, focusing their energy on walking. Most of the party walked with their heads bent against the sun, but Nancy looked around at the landscape as she walked. She remembered Bess saying in her most recent letter that the landscape in Arizona was beautiful. In the immediate vicinity, Nancy didn't see anything too nice to look at. It was dry and dusty and there was very little vegetation except a few scrubby plants that were struggling for survival under the scorching sun. Even so, beyond that, Nancy thought that the foothills and mountains in the distance might look rather pretty if they weren't so lonely and forbidding. The foothills had a bit of spiky green brush or trees on them, and the mountains were craggy and rugged, though they didn't rise up to anything like the height of the mountains she had seen in Colorado as they had traveled westward. There was only one peak that rose to an impressive height, or perhaps it was just because it was considerably higher than the others.

Finally, after what seemed like hours though it was only a little more than one hour, they saw a cloud of dust coming toward them with a horse and rider in its midst. They shouted and waved although there wasn't any need since he was already making straight for them.

He reigned his horse up next to them and looked down on them with a frown. "Do you talks realize you're trespassing?"

"We're from the stagecoach into Tumbleweed," the driver explained rather than answering the question. "It was held up and the robbers ran the horses off. We're trying to get to Crowhead Ranch to get some help."

The rider's frown softened a little, though it didn't disappear altogether. "You're on Crowhead Ranch right now. You're almost to the ranch house now. It's just over that rise. I reckon if you need help, Mrs. Hardy will be willing to give it to you. I'm her foreman, Hank Danver. I'll take you the rest of the way to the house."

The news that they were so near their destination cheered the walkers and they went on at a greater pace. Within minutes, they had topped the rise and then it took another fifteen minutes to reach the house. Their approach had been spotted and they were greeted by a middle-aged woman and two boys about Nancy's age who were standing out in front of the ranch house.

"Greetings, neighbors," the woman called as soon as they were close enough to hear. "What brings you out this way?"

The driver explained their situation again, and Nancy noted that the two boys listened to the story of the robbery with more eagerness than normal. For an instant, Nancy felt a tinge of suspicion, but her better sense told her that they couldn't have possibly had anything to do with the robbery. They were clearly not any of the robbers themselves and they wouldn't have had time to get back here without the passengers seeing them.

"That's a shame!" the woman said when the story was finished. "I'm Ruth Hardy, and I own this ranch. I'll be more than happy to help you all out. You can stay the night here. I need to send a man into town tomorrow morning on business anyway, and you can all go along with him."

Most of the passengers were agreeable to this since it was getting late and it would be well after dark before they reached even the nearby Dry Creek if they left now, but Carson Drew cleared his throat. "I understand that a Sheriff Humber owns a ranch bordering yours. Would this robbery fall under his jurisdiction?"

Ruth's face froze and then hardened. "Yes, that's right. But you can notify him about it when you get to town tomorrow.'  
"Joe and I can ride on over to Shadow Ranch this evening," one of the boys offered. He had dark hair and Nancy couldn't help thinking him very handsome.

"If it's not that far, my daughter and I would like to go as well," Carson said. "You see, we're on our way to visit Sheriff Humber anyway."

Ruth folded her arms over her chest. "Oh? Is that so? You're friends of Humber's?"

Carson glanced at Nancy. "Well…not exactly."

"I'm afraid that I don't exactly have any horses to spare tonight," Ruth said. "You can ride in the wagon into Dry Creek tomorrow along with everybody else."

"There's a dozen horses in the corral that nobody plans on using tonight," the other boy spoke up. "It would only take about an hour to ride to Shadow Ranch, and so if you're not too tired, Mr. …?"

"Drew," Carson said. "I'm Carson Drew, and this is my daughter, Nancy. We're already more than two days later than we expected to be, and I think we'd both rather push on if we can finish our journey tonight."

"Besides," Nancy added, "it would be better if we spoke to the sheriff anyway, since we were actually there at the robbery."

"That's settled then," the other boys said, casting a glance at Ruth that seemed to be warning her not to protest any further. "I'm Frank Hardy, and this is my brother, Joe. We'll just take a few minutes to saddle up some horses and fill some canteens."

"You can take this canteen, for one." The woman passenger held up the now-empty canteen that the outlaw had given them. "I don't want anything from those wretched thieves."

"I'll take it," Nancy said, sounding more eager than she meant.

"Why, what on earth do you want it for?" the woman asked her.

"I'd like a souvenir of my first stagecoach hold-up," Nancy replied.

The woman handed the canteen to her with a shrug, and Nancy immediately examined it. It was an ordinary canteen in almost every respect, except that there was an outline of a heart scratched into the cap.

"Do you know how to ride a horse, Miss Drew?" Joe asked her. The blond-haired boy had moved closer, and Nancy thought that he was also looking at the canteen.

"Yes, I do," Nancy replied.

Within fifteen minutes, Frank and Joe had the horses saddled and the canteens filled. Ruth still seemed displeased by the whole turn of affairs, but she didn't try to stop them. They were soon on their way, riding roughly toward the mountains that Nancy had noticed earlier.

"Thank you for taking us to Shadow Ranch," Carson said as they rode along. "We're starting to get a little impatient to get there, and even another night's delay didn't sound very appealing. I'm sorry you had to go up against your mother, though."

"It's all right," Joe assured, "although Cousin Ruth isn't our mother. She's a cousin of our father. At least, she was married to one, but her husband died a few years ago. We're just visiting her for a month or so with our father."

"Where are you from then?" Nancy asked.

"Bayport," Joe told her. "It's a little town way over on the East Coast."

Nancy chuckled. "And I thought we've had a long trip just coming from Illinois."

"That's still a long enough trip," Frank replied. "It's certainly a long way to come to visit someone who isn't exactly a friend."

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you that I'm a lawyer," Carson said. "Sheriff Humber asked me to represent him in a lawsuit."

Frank and Joe exchanged glances.

"Did the sheriff tell you what the case was and who the other party was?" Joe asked.

"Yes, he did," Carson replied. "All of this puts me into a rather awkward position. Going ahead with the lawsuit seems a poor thank you to your cousin after she helped us."

"None too willingly, either, and that was just when she thought you were going to Shadow Ranch on a social call," Joe reminded him. "I wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

"Aren't you on your cousin's side in all of this?" Nancy asked. She thought Joe's reaction was strange.

"We're on the side of fairness," Frank said. "That's why we came out here, to try to figure out whose side is the fair side. You see, our father, Fenton Hardy, is a detective, and so he doesn't take sides in things like this until he has all the facts."

"If it's any consolation," Carson told him, "I don't either. I need to find out whether Sheriff Humber has a claim or not before I agree to represent him."

"You've come a long way to refuse in case it turns out he doesn't have a claim," Frank observed.

"We had other reasons for coming out here," Carson told him.

"You see, two of my close friends moved out here to live with their aunt and uncle on Shadow Ranch," Nancy explained. "Their uncle, Ed Rawley, is the foreman. Maybe you've met them: Bess Marvin and George Fayne?"

Both Hardys shook their heads.

"We've only been out here a week ourselves," Frank explained. "And we've only been to Shadow Ranch once. We met the sheriff and his daughter and Ed Rawley, but those are the only ones we met."

"So, your father is a detective," Nancy said, backing up in the conversation a little. "And you're helping him? Does that make you two detectives as well?"

"Of sorts, I guess," Frank replied. "We're still just learning the trade, so to speak."

Joe was apparently not so modest as his brother. "We're already pretty good. Just wait until we're old enough to be professionals."

"Nancy is an amateur detective, too," Carson commented. He didn't believe that these two boys could possibly be better detectives than his daughter.

Nancy blushed. She didn't usually like her father bragging over her detective skills, but somehow it was even worse in front of the Hardys. Just the simple statement of fact was enough to make her feel self-conscious.

"Really?" Joe asked, looking confused. "But you're…Well, I mean, I've never met a girl detective before, but I always figured that…"

"That's great, Miss Drew," Frank interrupted his brother before Joe could embarrass himself any further. "Are you planning on investigating for the lawsuit?"

"If there's anything to investigate," Nancy told him. "You and your father must think there is."

"It's mostly looking into deeds and titles and things like that, but there are some interesting points," Frank said. He shot a look at Carson. "No offense, but I don't think it would be wise to tell you anything that we've found out that isn't common knowledge."

"What is the common knowledge about it?" Carson asked. "Sheriff Humber will tell me all about it, I'm sure, but I'd like to hear it from more than one source if I can."

"I suppose there wouldn't be any harm in telling you that much," Frank said. He pointed to the tall mountain in the midst of the range ahead of them. "That's Shadow Mountain. It's the crux of this whole thing. You see, that mountain is right on the corner where the three largest ranches in the area meet: Crowhead, Shadow Ranch, and Pop Hamilton's place. Over half of it belongs to Shadow Ranch. Cousin Ruth owns most of the rest of it, and Pop Hamilton only owns a small portion. Right on the border of Shadow Ranch and Crowhead Ranch is a small plot of land that is mostly cliffs and is pretty much useless.

"Sheriff Humber didn't want his cattle to get in there because he was afraid some of the calves might fall over one of the cliffs, so he fenced that area off from the rest of his ranch. Cousin Ruth, on the other hand, doesn't have a fence there, so her cattle sometimes go in there. Pretty much everyone believes that that is part of Shadow Ranch, but Sheriff Humber never minded Cousin Ruth's cattle going in there because he didn't have a use for it.

"That all changed a few months ago when a fellow offered to buy that little piece of Shadow Ranch. You see, there are some cliff dwellings that were built by an ancient Indian tribe a long time ago. They're long gone, but their houses and even some bits of pottery and other things from what I've heard are still up there, built right into those cliffs. This fellow says he is an archaeologist and wants to study the cliff dwellings. He offered a very good price for the land, too.

"Now, Cousin Ruth believes that the land belongs to her and that Sheriff Humber doesn't have any right to sell it to anybody for any price. They've been fighting over it ever since."

Carson took a few moments to digest this information. "Do you know what the prospective buyer's name is?"

"He gave his name as Morgan," Frank told him.

"You say that like you don't believe him," Carson observed.

"I suppose a man would know his own name," Frank replied, but he kept his eyes steadily forward.

"There isn't much of a mystery connected with it, after all," Joe said, looking a bit mournful. "It looks like we'll end up spending most of our time here riding horses and learning to work cows."

Frank made a wry face. "I don't think they'll ever make cowboys out of us."

"I don't know," Joe said. "It's kind of fun. I just wish more would happen out here besides just land disputes. Back east, they make it sound like there's always gunfights and brawls and murders and such out here."

"We did have a stagecoach robbery," Nancy pointed out. "That ought to make up for at least a little bit of the disappointment."

"There is that," Joe said thoughtfully. "That could make for an interesting mystery, except the sheriff will probably send out a posse and catch them or else the robbers will head straight for another part of the country."

"I think I'll make a few inquiries about them all the same," Nancy replied. "I have a good enough description of all of them that I would recognize them if I saw them again."

"But I thought you said that they were masked," Joe protested.

"They were," Nancy confirmed. "A mask doesn't hide everything, though."

Though Carson was proud of Nancy's detective skills, he wasn't so sure he like the idea of her chasing down Western outlaws. They seemed a good deal more dangerous than the criminals who frequented River Heights. He decided to change the subject. "What sort of man does Sheriff Humber seem to be to you?"

"He's very…righteous," Joe replied. "He absolutely believes he is in the right, or he would never try to sue Cousin Ruth. For that matter, I don't think Sheriff Humber ever did a thing in his life that he thought was wrong. So basically, he's exactly how Frank will be when he's older."

"Hilarious, Joe. You should join a traveling show." Frank gave Nancy an exasperated glance that made her laugh. "You know, there're worse things you can do than trying to do the right thing."

It was at that moment, watching the teasing between the two brothers with still a vein of seriousness in it, that Nancy decided that she liked Frank and Joe Hardy and she hoped there wouldn't be any false sense of rivalry between her and them because of the argument between Meryl Humber and Ruth Hardy.

The sun had set by the time they spotted the lights of the house at Shadow Ranch, and the yard was dark and empty as they climbed down from their horses. Even so, they hadn't reached the door yet when it was flung open and Nancy could see two young women – one blond and the other brunette – standing in the doorway.

"Bess! George!" Nancy quickened her steps despite her weary legs.

"Nancy!" the girls cried at the same time and rushed forward.

The girls hugged one another and chattered in excitement for a few minutes before they even seemed to notice the other newcomers. Finally, they turned to Carson and greeted him. They gave the Hardys curious (and in Bess's case, highly approving) glances. Nancy was about to introduce them when four more people came out of the house and hailed the visitors.

"Good evening to you," called one of the men, a tall man with a heavy mustache. "Judging from the girls' greeting, you must be the Drews."

"That's right." Carson stepped forward and offered his hand to shake, which the man accepted willingly. "Carson Drew, and this is my daughter, Nancy."

"Good to know you," the man replied. "I'm Meryl Humber. My daughter, Frances, and this is my foreman, Ed Rawley, and his wife, Bet. I'm very grateful to you folks coming all the way out here. I sent a man into Tumbleweed to meet the stage. I hope he didn't get something mixed up."

"No, I'm sure not," Carson told him. "The stage never made it to Tumbleweed, actually. It was held up by some robbers near the Hardy ranch. They ran the horses off, and so we had to walk to the ranch. Mrs. Hardy was kind enough to help us."

Sheriff Humber now acknowledged Frank and Joe with a stiff nod, but his words were more cordial than might have been expected. "Thank you, boys. I appreciate this." Then he said to the company in general, "If that happened near Crowhead, that's in my territory. I'd better head into town and start organizing a posse. If this is the same gang that has been causing trouble lately, maybe we can catch them this time."

"Father," Frances spoke up, "it's late and that must have happened hours ago. You'd have better luck finding those outlaws trail in the morning, and anyway, we were about to sit down to supper and now we have guests." Nancy studied her for a moment. She was about the same age as Nancy and her friends with brown hair. She would have been rather pretty, but she kept her hair pulled back into a tight and unattractive bun and her expression was tense and pinched.

"You're right. My apologies," Humber said. "Why don't you all come in? You boys, too. You must be hungry and you might as well stay to supper. One of the men will take care of your horses. Tex!"

A redheaded cowboy with a mustache came out of the nearby stable. He scowled at the newcomers and then said, "Yes, boss?"

"Take care of these horses, would you," Humber instructed him.

Tex took the reins of the four horses and led them toward the stable, though not before casting another displeased glance in the direction of the guests.

"Pleasant fellow," Nancy whispered to Bess with grin, remembering that Bess had mentioned Tex Britten in a letter.

Bess shuddered. "Hardly. But never mind about him. Who are your two friends here?"

Nancy introduced the Hardys to Bess and George. She noted a small look of disappointment on Bess's face when she mentioned the boys' last name.

Then they went inside. While four more places were set at the table, Nancy and Carson were shown to their rooms while Frank and Joe were shown where they could wash up after the dusty ride. Then they all sat down at the table and Sheriff Humber led them in saying grace.

"This is going to be such fun having you here, Nancy," Bess declared as they began eating. "There's so much we have to show you."

"It's not meant to be just fun," Sheriff Humber commented.

Frances cleared her throat and cast a meaningful look toward the Hardys. "It's not polite to talk business at the table, Father. Speaking of manners, I'm afraid ours have been deplorable. We haven't even asked you how your travels have been."

"Not too bad," Carson told her. "Of course, the robbery livened things up quite a bit."

"Oh, well, I think talking about that can wait until after supper as well," Frances said.

Nancy began to wonder why Frances was being so evasive about topics of discussion. However, there was no point in bluntly asking about it and maybe she just simply didn't want to talk about anything unpleasant. "Speaking of supper," Nancy said to try to ease the conversation into a more neutral vein, "it's the best that we've had since we left River Heights and our housekeeper Hannah's cooking."

"Why, thank you, Miss Nancy," replied the cook, Shorty Thurmond, who just happened to be passing through the room. He spoke with a distinct Texan drawl. "It's a decided improvement over all the cowhands complaining about my cooking all the time. Maybe they can learn some manners from you while you're here."

Nancy felt her cheeks grow a bit warm. There was something in Shorty's tone that sounded like flattery, and she didn't like it.

"I think complaining about food is a requirement for working cattle," Joe observed. "The hands over at Crowhead are always giving the cook a hard time."

"If the food is really so terrible, you can always come over here more often," Bess ventured to say not-so-subtly, forgetting just how awkward the trouble between the two ranches made the invitation.

Joe's cheeks reddened. George passed a hand over her face in embarrassment. Nancy tried to think of something to say that would salvage the situation.

At that moment, the door was thrown open with a bang and a cowboy stepped through, shouting for Sheriff Humber. He paused when he saw the group at the table.

"Something wrong, Dave?" Sheriff Humber asked.

"There's something you ought to see," the cowboy replied. As everyone at the table began to stand up, he cleared his throat. "Er, the ladies might want to stay inside."

"What is it?" George asked, completely ignoring his warning as she (and all the other ladies, as well as the men) followed him out onto the porch.

Once they were outside, they saw the answer to this question for themselves. Two horses were standing at the hitching post. One had a man-sized bundle wrapped in a blanket slung across its saddle. A pair of boots peeked out from the near side.

Sheriff Humber's face was grim. "What happened?"

"He was shot," Dave said in a low voice as if he didn't want anyone but the sheriff to hear.

"Accident?" Humber asked.

Dave shook his head. "Hit square in the forehead. Close range, I think. His own gun was the ground a few feet away. It looks like cold-blooded murder to me."

A collective shiver passed through the group.

"Do you know who he is?" Frank asked.

Dave looked uncertainly from him to the sheriff before saying, "No. If I've ever seen him before, I wouldn't be able to tell it now. He's not one of our boys, though. I know that for sure. His horse has Pop Hamilton's brand on it."

Nancy glanced at the brand on the horse's hip and started. She had seen the exact same brand on one of the horses ridden by the outlaws.

Humber let out a long breath. "All right. We'll have to take him into town. Where did you find him, anyway, Dave?"

"Up on Shadow Mountain," Dave replied. "At the cliff houses."

Humber made no reply to that except that his face hardened. "We'd better go, Dave."

"Excuse me, sheriff," Joe said, stepping forward. "With everything going on and the stagecoach robbery and now this, you must be pretty busy. If you want any help, my father and my brother and I are all excellent detectives, if I do say so myself."

"Nancy is a terrific detective, too," George put in. "She could help you solve all your cases in no time."

Judging from Humber's face, he was just about to refuse both offers. Then he seemingly changed his mind. "That's a good idea. I could use some help. As a matter of fact, I have a few ideas I would like you to look into. It will have to wait until morning to talk them over, though. Frank and Joe, if you want to stay the night, you're welcome to. We have plenty of extra rooms." He then gave Ed Rawley a few instructions in case he would be out all night and then headed to the stable for his horse.

"He sure got a lot friendlier in a hurry," Joe said in a low voice to his brother, although Nancy overheard.

Frank nodded and then looked toward Nancy. "It looks like the three of us might be working together."

"Is that all right with you?" Nancy asked.

"It is if you're even half as good as your friend says," Frank replied.

Carson, Frances, and Ed and Bet Rawley went back inside, but the rest lingered outside and watched the sheriff and Dave ride away.

"Who is that fellow who found the body?" Frank asked.

"Dave Gregory," Bess replied. "He's one of the men who work for Sheriff Humber, obviously."

Frank nodded. "Do you know anything about him?"

"Not much," Bess replied. "Just that he's from Montana and he doesn't say much."

"How far away is the Hamilton Ranch?" Nancy asked.

"I don't really know for sure," George said. "I've never been there before, although Pop – that's what everyone calls him – Pop has thrown several parties since we've been here that we were invited to. It just has never worked out to go. I'm sure the sheriff will go talk to him about this."

"I'm sure," Nancy agreed. "There's something else I want to find out about, though. The…that man…Mr. Gregory said that the brand on his horse belongs to Mr. Hamilton. One of the robbers from earlier had a horse with the exact same brand."

"That is worth looking into," Joe agreed. "It couldn't have been the same horse, by any chance, could it?"

"No," Nancy said. "This horse was a sorrel and the one from earlier was a bay."

"Well, there goes that idea," Joe said.

"The robber probably bought or stole his horse from Mr. Hamilton," Frank mused. "If he bought it, then maybe we can find out who he is."

There wasn't much interest in finishing supper that night, and so everyone, including the Hardys, who had accepted Sheriff Humber's off of letting them stay the night, went to bed.

Despite being exhausted from the long journey, Nancy took her time getting ready for bed. There was too much to think about as she turned over her adventures in her mind. Just before she finally slid into bed, she glanced out her window and saw Frances walking outside with a dim lantern. Her last conscious thought before she fell asleep was to wonder why Frances hadn't gone to bed after all.


	4. Chapter III

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Happy weekend! Thanks for continuing to read! Thank you especially to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter: Cherylann Rivers, angelicalkiss, Rose12, and Drumboy100! Your feedback is always very much appreciated!_

**Chapter III**

George was awake early the next morning. Between the oppressive heat and the excitement of the events of the night before, she hadn't slept very well. By the time the sun rose, she had already hauled several gallons of water from the pump to the garden, pulled all the weeds that had sprouted during the night, harvested the few vegetables that were ripe this early in the season, and was helping Shorty with breakfast. She was tired and, as such, just a little bit in a bad mood. Shorty's incessant gossipy rambling wasn't helping matters, either, especially since she felt he was pumping her for information about the Drews, and so she had to put all her effort into at least trying to sound cordial.

Breakfast was almost ready by the time Bess put in an appearance, still yawning though she had taken the time to brush and arrange her hair.

"Afternoon, Miss Bess," Shorty teased her as she came into the kitchen.

Bess gave him a reproachful glance. "It's not _that_ late. Anyway, it's not like I have to get up at the crack of dawn to work cows. Besides, I don't see Frances up yet."

"Miss Frances was up well before dawn this morning," Shorty told her. "She was even up before Miss George here, and she's been awake for hours already."

"Well, then, where is she?" Bess asked.

"She took her horse and went out riding first thing," Shorty told her. "Didn't even bother to stop for a bite to eat."

"I'd sure like to know where she's always riding off to," George said as she sliced up a potato.

"All I'd like to know is why anyone would go anywhere in this heat if they didn't have to." Bess tried to fan herself with her hand. "It's terrible, and it's only June. Please tell me it won't get even worse as summer goes on."

"Sorry, Miss Bess," Shorty replied.

Bess sighed dramatically. "I'm never going to survive out here. If I die…"

"Stop it!" George snapped suddenly.

Bess raised her eyebrows and took a step backward. "I was just joking, George."

"Well, it isn't funny." George could feel her throat tightening, but she was determined not to cry in front of Bess and Shorty. Since she felt she couldn't help but cry, she slammed the knife she was using down on the table and rushed out of the room, much to the bewilderment of Bess and Shorty.

She wanted to avoid meeting anybody if she possibly could, and the only pace she could think of at this time of day was the loft of the stable. Hay was the only thing stored up there and the horses would have already been fed for the morning, so no one would have any business up there. Fortunately, nobody happened to be in the main part of the stable either, and so George was able to get inside and climb up the ladder without anyone noticing her.

She found a nice, deep pile of hay and curled up next to it, pulling her knees up underneath her chin. Now that she was alone, there was no point in trying to fight the tears any longer. Even so, when a big one trickled down off the end of her nose, she furiously tried to wipe any more away. At this rate, she was going to have to stay up in this loft a good, long time if she didn't want to go out in front of everyone with red, puffy eyes to announce her weakness to the world.

It wasn't really Bess's joking that was bothering her. It was just…everything. Her parents and her aunt and uncle were, of course, uppermost in her mind and would have been enough to excuse her outburst of grief. Then, too, there were all her friends back in River Heights to think about, not to mention all the familiar and comforting things that she would maybe never see again – the house she had grown up in, the little grove of trees in the park where she used to spend hours reading, the swimming hole up the Muskoka River where she and Bess and Nancy used to sneak out to when they were younger. She had thought that having Nancy here would help, that it would make everything seem a little less remote and far away, but it only seemed to make things worse. Maybe George had managed to persuade herself that all of those things were part of another world or somebody else's life. Having Nancy here reminded her that it really was real and really had been part of her life, but she was still cut off from it.

Somehow, without realizing it, she had shifted her position and was lying face down in the loose hay as she sobbed. This wouldn't do, she scolded herself. She had to be the strong one. It wasn't right for her to cry like this. Yet, the more she tried to convince herself to stop crying, the more she found to cry about.

It would have been bad enough if she had been left to keep sobbing indefinitely. It was even worse that she heard someone on the ladder and whirled around in self-defense to find Dave Gregory standing on one of the top rungs of the ladder and staring at her in consternation. He looked like he was tempted just to back down the ladder again and pretend he hadn't seen anything. He even took a step down, but now that George had seen him, he stopped.

"Is something the matter, ma'am?" he asked awkwardly.

"No," George lied, though there was no possibility of convincing him. She didn't want to go into it with anybody, let alone someone whom she had barely talked to before and whom she was always struck with a little shyness around.

Dave hesitated, undecided between letting it be and trying to help. It would have been better if he had just let it be, but instead he finally said, "You city gals sure have a funny way of showin' that nothing's the matter."

George glared at him and wished she had something to throw at him. "It's none of your business. Just let me alone!"

Dave hesitated again, but then, like a moment of fate, he backed down the ladder.

NDNDNDNDND

"Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, Miss Bess," Shorty said. "How about you go around and gather everybody up."

"All right," Bess replied. She was eager to see if she could find George and find out what was the matter with her after her odd outburst, so an excuse to get out of further breakfast preparations was welcome.

She went outside first, since the only other people in the house were Carson and Nancy, who were still asleep and should be allowed to go on sleeping as long as they wanted after their long journey, and the Hardys, who were also still asleep, and Bess was a bit shy about waking them. She found Aunt Bet tending to the chickens and Uncle Ed and most of the other men hanging around the corral, and she gave them all the message. Then she spotted Frances riding in on her horse, Brownie, over by the stable. She hurried over to talk to her as well.

"Good morning, Frances," Bess greeted her. "You sure were up early this morning. Did you have someplace special to go?"

"Oh, not really." Frances hid a yawn behind one of her hands. "It's just so dull around the ranch house during the day and too hot to go anywhere, so I thought I'd go out early today. You missed a glorious sunrise, by the way."

"Sunrises are all right and everything," Bess replied, "but sleep is more important to me. Breakfast is ready, by the way."

"I'm not hungry," Frances said airily. "Besides, I don't like eating with all the hired men. They have such bad manners. I don't know why Father insists on inviting them in for breakfast."

"I think it's a very nice thing for him to do," Bess replied. "All the men always seem to appreciate it."

Frances didn't answer. At that moment, Dave stepped out of the stable. He bade the girls good morning, but Frances merely walked stiffly away.

Bess watched her go. "I don't know why she was so rude to you, especially after she was complaining about your bad manners," she said when Frances was out of earshot.

"My bad manners?" Dave repeated.

Bess just shook her head. "Breakfast is ready. Did the sheriff come back, too?"

"Nah," Dave replied. "He had too much to do in town between the robbery and the murder. Hernandez was on his way back from Tumbleweed – you know he's the one Mr. Humber sent to meet your friends at the stagecoach. He came back with me, and the sheriff says those two Hardy boys shouldn't leave before they talk to Hernandez."

"What do they have to talk to Mr. Hernandez for?" Bess asked.

Dave shrugged and mumbled something that sounded like, "I don't know." He started to walk away but then he stopped. "One more thing. Your cousin is up in the loft. She seems mighty upset about something."

Bess thanked him and then hurried inside and up the ladder to the loft where she found George sobbing into a pile of hay. Bess sat down next to her, a little unsure what to say or do since their positions were usually reversed.

"I was starting to wonder if you ever did anything like this or if it was just me," Bess ventured to say finally.

"Just leave me alone, Bess." George didn't lift her head up and her voice was muffled almost beyond understanding.

"Hey, it's all right, George," Bess told her. "I know people say, 'I know exactly how you feel,' a lot and it usually isn't true, but I think I can say it truthfully."

George didn't answer right away, but she slowly sat up. "Yeah, I know. It's just that…"

"It's just that some days you've got to cry," Bess finished for her. "It's all right. Really, I think it does make it a little easier to keep going. And nobody thinks less of you for it. If they do, then they're obviously some sort of heartless monster."

A faint grin flickered on George's lips for an instant and she brushed away a few more tears. Bess tried to give her a bug, but George soon squirmed away.

"It's too hot already for that sort of thing," George complained. "I'll be all right. I just need to think about something else for a while."

As if in answer to her wish, they heard the sound of several men laughing down in the yard below. The girls glanced at one another and then crawled over to the window where they would be able to see and hear what was going on clearly. Several of the men – Walt Sanders, Tex Britten, and Bud Moore, to be exact – were gathered around Frank and Joe Hardy, who had evidently just stepped down from the porch. Shorty Thurmond was standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen with a broad grin on his face. Walt and Bud seemed to be doing the laughing. Maybe Tex was, too, but it was hard to imagine him amused at anything.

"You Hardys don't live up to your name, huh?" Bud was saying. "Sleepin' in till noon."

"It's not even seven o'clock yet," Joe tried to defend himself.

"It's bad enough having all these Eastern girls out here," Tex said. "A couple of Eastern fellows like you won't last three days out here."

"We've already managed to survive over twice that long," Frank pointed out with admirable coolness.

"Then you're already pushing your luck," Walt replied with a chuckle. "You'd best be headed back to wherever it is you come from in a hurry."

The cowboys laughed again and Joe clenched his fists. Frank put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Then Dave approached the group. He gave the other cowboys a critical look and then said, "I heard breakfast was ready. Why don't you go and eat it instead of standing around and making fools of yourselves?"

The cowboys glanced at one another and then headed into the ranch house along with Dave. Frank and Joe lingered behind, evidently not too interested in the company of the others at the moment.

Now that the excitement was over, Bess and George turned away from the window.

"You know, I didn't like that Dave Gregory much when we first got here, but he's actually all right," Bess said.

"Maybe," George replied, a little flush of color coming to her cheeks as she recalled her meeting with Dave only a few minutes before. She wanted to talk about someone else. "What about your Bud that you're so fond of? He wasn't exactly being all that kind."

"He was just teasing," Bess excused him. "I'm sure he didn't really mean to hurt the Hardys' feelings or anything. Oh! Speaking of the Hardys, I have something to tell them. Come on."

She hurried down the ladder, and George, who felt less like crying now, followed her. They men the Hardys in the yard and exchanged "good mornings" with them.

"It's nice to meet someone friendly around here," Joe grumbled.

"Let it go, Joe," Frank advised him. "A little teasing never hurt anybody. We were going to head out, though. We can get something to eat back at Crowhead."

"Before you go," Bess told him, "Sheriff Humber sent word that he wants you to talk to Mr. Hernandez."

"Who's Mr. Hernandez?" Joe asked.

"He's one of the men who work for Sheriff Humber," Bess explained. "I don't know what you're supposed to talk to him about."

"Do you know where we can find him?" Frank asked.

"Probably at breakfast," Bess guessed.

Frank almost sighed, but he restrained himself. "All right, then. I guess we'll have breakfast here, after all. Are you girls coming?"

Bess glanced at George, who replied, "Might as well, I suppose."

NDNDNDNDND

It was the heat that woke Nancy up. The sun was already beating through her window and making the room too stuffy to sleep in, even though Nancy felt that she had scarcely slept at all. She sat up with a sort of groan and stretched her arms. Then she remembered the events of the day and the night before and her weariness seemed to fall from her as the prospect of a mystery presented itself. She dressed in a hurry and rushed downstairs where she found Bess, George, and Shorty still washing up the breakfast dishes.

"Nancy! What are you doing up so early?" Bess asked. "We thought you'd sleep in this morning for sure."

Nancy's eyes twinkled. "Not when there's a mystery to solve."

George laughed. "It's nice to know that some things never change."

Shorty shook his head. "I can't say as I can understand why a nice young lady like y'all would want to spend your time chasing after outlaws and murderers and all."

Nancy's only response was a polite smile.

"The Hardys are outside talking to Mr. Hernandez," George said. "It's probably something about the mystery if you want to go find out what it's all about."

Nancy thanked her and went out onto the porch where she found Frank and Joe talking to a Mexican man.

"_Buenos días, señorita_," he greeted her, tipping his hat. Nancy noticed that he was wearing a badge on his vest. "I am Juan Hernandez. Am I right in thinking that you are Miss Drew?"

"Yes, that's right," Nancy replied. "It's nice to meet you. Good morning." She addressed the last two words to the Hardys.

"You're just in time," Hernandez went on. "My message is for you as well as for the Hardy boys. Sheriff Humber told me that the three of you are detectives and want to investigate the murder."

"That's right," Nancy agreed. "Are you a deputy?"

"Since last night." Hernandez tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. "Sheriff Humber deputized me so that I could help you with all your investigations. He wants me to go with you everywhere you go in case you need anyone arrested."

"Oh." Nancy glanced sidelong at the Hardys, who seemed to be thinking the same thing she was. "That should be very helpful," she added so that Hernandez wouldn't notice her less-than-enthusiastic response.

"He said that you should ride up to Shadow Mountain today," Hernandez went on. "That way, you can get the lie of the land."

"That's a good idea," Nancy said. "We won't be ready to go for a while yet, though."

"All right," Hernandez agreed. "Call me when you're ready to go."

He walked away to the corral where several of the men were saddling horses or otherwise getting ready for the day's work.

"'A good idea' and 'very helpful.'" Joe snorted. "Humber is just trying to keep us out of the way and he's having that Hernandez watch us just to make sure we don't do anything useful."

"Probably," Nancy agreed. "But there are three of us. It might not be that easy for Deputy Hernandez to watch all of us."

Joe grinned. "I owe you an apology, Miss Drew. When you said you were a detective yesterday, I'll admit, I was a little bit skeptical, but I think you know exactly what you're doing."

"No apology needed," Nancy assured him. "You know, if we're going to be working together, it would be easiest if we just called each other by our first names."

"I agree," Frank said. "Now that we have that all sorted out, what are we going to do first?"

"I think we should play along with the sheriff to begin with," Nancy replied. "It's not that I want to try to trick him or anything; it's just that he won't trust us until we prove that we deserve it."

"True," Frank agreed. "And going up to Shadow Mountain wouldn't be useless. It is the murder scene, after all. We could find some clues up there."

"Then let's do it!" Nancy said.

"Aren't you tired, Miss…Nancy…just Nancy?" Joe asked. "I mean, when we came from Bayport, it took about two solid days of sleeping before I recovered."

"You didn't have a murder to solve," Nancy reminded him. "Now let's stop wasting time."

NDNDNDNDND

"We should ride over to Crowhead Ranch first," Frank said as the group rode out from Shadow Ranch. In addition to the Hardys, Nancy, and Hernandez, Bess and George had also insisted on coming. "Dad will be wondering what happened to Joe and me."

"Crowhead?" Hernandez repeated wearily. Riding all the way to Crowhead would add a long distance to their road.

Although Nancy didn't say anything, she wasn't particularly thrilled about the prospect either. Although she was a decent enough rider, she hadn't had to ride astride a horse very often recently and she had discovered this morning that the long ride yesterday had left her saddlesore. Sitting in a saddle again wasn't very comfortable. She hoped should wouldn't end up being stiff and sore the whole time she was here.

Frank and Joe insisted that they needed to tell their father where they were going and so the group veered a little bit to the right to bypass Shadow Mountain and make for Crowhead Ranch instead. It was ten-thirty in the morning by the time they arrived, and it was already miserably hot. They were met in the yard outside by Hank Danver, the foreman whom Nancy had met the evening before.

"Well, there you are," he said gruffly to Frank and Joe. "Mrs. Hardy was half-convinced Humber was holding you prisoner over at his ranch."

"Actually, he treated us like guests," Joe told him. "Is our dad around?"

"Nope," Hank told him. "He rode out early this morning. Some sort of detective business."

"I guess he's not that worried about you two after all," George said teasingly. Her mood had improved greatly now that she had something else to think about.

"Or else his detective business was to go looking for you." Bess grinned.

"He would have found us then," Joe declared. "Even if we hadn't been in the first place anyone would look, Dad's the greatest detective in the world."

Hank snorted. "Don't see what good detectives are anyway. Anyone with a lick of sense can figure out most things that happened, especially who owns that piece of land up to Shadow Mountain that's not worth fighting over anyhow."

"Who does own it then?" Nancy asked.

Hank glared at her. "I don't see as how it's any of your business, but it's Mrs. Hardy's property. Humber only owns up to that fence that he built."

Frank swung down from his horse. "Unfortunately, a judge is going to need more than 'Hank says so' before he rules one way or the other about this."

"That's what you need detectives for," Joe added with just a hint of spite.

"Why don't you all come in and get some water, at least?" Frank invited the others.

They all climbed down from their horses and went inside. It was a little stuffy, but cool in comparison to outdoors.

"And I thought Tex Britten was unpleasant." Bess cast a dark glance toward the door. "Imagine the nerve of a person to tell someone to their face that their line of work is useless! Who was that man, anyway?"

"Oh, Hank. He's the foreman here," Frank told her. He didn't seem too concerned. "He's been that way to Joe and me since we got here. It's not the first time we've run into someone with his attitude toward detectives."

"I don't think it's detectives so much as Frank and me personally," Joe disagreed. "He's respectful enough toward Dad, anyway."

"Why would he have anything personal against you?" Nancy asked. "Had you ever met him before you came out here?"

"No," Joe admitted. "Maybe he's just one of those people who think we're too young to be any use."

"If that's the case, then all you'll have to do is prove him wrong," Nancy said. "Still, we can't forget that there's been a murder on the disputed piece of property now. It might not bea coincidence that it happened there."

"You don't think Cousin Ruth is involved in anything underhanded, do you?" Frank asked.

"Or Aunt Bet and Uncle Ed?" Bess added.

"I don't know what's going on…yet," Nancy said.

They all took a few more moments to enjoy the relative coolness and to consider the possibilities of a connection between the murder and the land dispute. Even Hernandez seemed to be mulling it over.

While they were doing so, Ruth Hardy stepped in through the door. Her hair, which was beginning to be streaked with gray, was pulled back in a tight bun and her clothes (she was wearing pants rather than a dress) were covered in dust. Clearly she had been hard at work.

"Hello, boys," she greeted Frank and Joe. "Hank told me you were back. I was starting to get worried about you."

"Sorry about that, Cousin Ruth," Frank said. "Sheriff Humber invited us to stay over at Shadow Ranch since it was so late."

"Fenton said that's what must have happened," Ruther said. "I wasn't so sure, but I guess I was wrong." She then nodded to the girls and Hernandez. "Good morning. Can I help all of you?"

"Good morning," Nancy returned the greeting. "We just stopped in for a few minutes. Thank you again for your help last night. Did the other passengers head into town already?"

"About an hour ago," Ruth told her. "You're welcome. Always happy to help those in need."

"You won't believe what happened last night, Cousin Ruth," Joe said.

"I thought there must have been more keeping you than just a simple invite," Ruth said. "I was half-afraid you were out tracking down those stagecoach robbers."

"No," Joe replied, "although that would be fun. There was a murder last night."

"It happened on that piece of property that's causing all the trouble," Frank added. "One of the Shadow Ranch men found him."

"Good heavens!" Ruth exclaimed. "Who is he?"

"We don't know," Frank explained. "The fellow who found him thought he might have worked for Pop Hamilton. At least, his horse had Pop's brand on it."

"That's terrible." Ruth gave Nancy a sharp look. "You don't think I had anything to do with it?"

"Is there a reason why we should?" Nancy asked innocently, surprised by the woman's immediate defensiveness.

"No," Ruth said. "Neither I nor any of my men had anything to do with this. If you think this murder to do with this land dispute, then I suggest you look for your killer at Shadow Ranch."

George bristled. "None of the men at Shadow Ranch could be a killer. I'm sure of that."

"And I'm equally sure of my own men," Ruth retorted, placing her hands on her hips. "If you're accusing…"

"No one's accusing anyone of anything," Nancy interjected hastily. "We really don't have any idea what happened. The sheriff gave us permission to look into it, and we're going up to Shadow Mountain to see if we can find anything. Until we know a little bit more about what happened, it's anybody's guess."

Ruth took a deep breath. She didn't respond directly to nancy's words, but she seem to be calmed by them. "One of Pop's boys, eh? What would any of them be doing on that part of the mountain?"

No one could give an answer to that. After a few more minutes, the detectives set out on their way toward the mountain. Bess, George, and Joe kept up a steady stream of small talk as they went, but Nancy, Frank, and Hernandez said very little. What Frank and Hernandez were thinking about, Nancy couldn't say, but for Nancy's part, she was turning all the aspects of this case so far over and over in her head.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since she had arrived in the area, and already so much had happened. There was the robbery with the outlaw on the big, white horse that nobody could have forgotten. Why would an outlaw ride a horse like that? And how had that other outlaw gotten one of Pop Hamilton's horses?

Now there was the murder to consider as well. Even without knowing the victim's name, there was already plenty of aspects to consider in that case: Ruth Hardy's defensive response to it, the victim's presence in that particular spot… Another though occurred to Nancy: why had Dave been up by the cliff houses when he found the body? If Sheriff Humber didn't let his cattle wander up there, then what business would have Dave had up there? She would have to ask about that later. For now, she felt it better to keep her own councils. Everything she said to either the Hardy or Hernandez should be carefully weighed until she was sure that their only motive was to help solve the case.

The ride up to the cliff houses was long and tiring and the afternoon was wearing away by the time they arrived. Bess and George had been up to the cliff houses once before, but Nancy and the Hardys had never seen anything like it. The dwellings had been partially dug right out of the sides of the cliffs, though the walls had been made of adobe. They were crumbling now and roofs were sagging and falling in. A few fireplaces were still visible here and there, as were broken bits of pots and other more difficult to identify items.

"What do you think happened to the people who lived here?" Bess asked.

"They probably just went to find somewhere better that the desert to live," George replied.

"Whatever happened to them, that archaeologist fellow, Morgan, ought to figure it out," Frank said with enthusiasm. "I've always thought that archaeology would be an interesting field to study. It's a lot like detective work in some ways."

"Well, for now, we've got an even bigger mystery to solve," Joe said, "or, at least, one that we're more qualified for. Let's start looking."

They spread out and began searching in and amidst the ruins. They realized now that Dave had given no indication of exactly where he had found the body, and try as they might, they couldn't find anything to indicate the place, not even so much a footprint in the sun-baked ground.

Left to themselves, Nancy, Frank, and Joe would have probably gone on searching until they had turned over every stone on the mountain. As it was, they did a fair job of exploring the cliff houses before they were persuaded by Bess, George, and Hernandez to give up the search for the night.

They parted ways at the foot of the mountain with the Hardys heading toward Crowhead and the rest turning toward Shadow Ranch.

When they reached the ranch, evening had gathered again. They met Frances and Bet Rawley removing dried clothing from the line. It had been laundry day, and Bess and George exchanged guilty glances for not having stayed home to help.

"I was wondering when you would decide to put in another appearance," Frances said, though the bitterness in her voice made it clear that there was more she would have like to say.

"Sorry." Bess hastened to pick up the basked of clothes.

"Don't worry about it, dear," Aunt Bet assured her. "We both understand you wanting to spend the day with Nancy, seeing how it's been so long since you've seen her. For that matter, I think you deserve a holiday. It might help things look a little brighter all the way around." She gave George a significant look.

George blushed, wondering if everyone on the ranch had heard about her crying episode that morning. Dave must have told them. He was the only one who could have.

"I can help with anything whenever I get the chance," Nancy offered.

Aunt Bet shook her head, a stubborn streak showing in her tanned face. "You're here on vacation, and you and Bess and George ought to have as much fun as you can." Then there was a twinkle in her eye. "Besides that, if you're as good a detective as Bess and George say, there's plenty of work of a different kind for you to do."

Frances folded her arms. "My father can take care of both the robbers and the murderer. He doesn't need you or those Hardy boys interfering."

"Your father said he would like Nancy and the Hardys to help." George put her hands on her hips. "If anyone needs to mind her own business, it's you."

"Girls," Aunt Bet said in a warning tone. "Now, we've all had a long day, and we're all tired. Let's fold these clothes and then go to bed. Nancy, tomorrow is Sunday, and we have to leave at six to be in town in time for church. If you'd rather sleep tomorrow, it's entirely understandable."

Nancy shook her head. "I'd like to go to church. If I'm running late, though, you might have to wake me up."

Tired though she was, it took a little while for Nancy to get to sleep. She found, to her surprise, that she was wondering most about Frances and why she was so defensive. There was a vague suspicion in the back of her mind that Frances might have something to do with all the mysterious happenings, but she couldn't think of a plausible reason why before she drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter IV

J.M.J.

_Author's note: I've got an almost 4__th__ of July surprise for you guys: an extra chapter this week! In fact, I'm far enough ahead, that from here on out in this story, I'm going to have bi-weekly postings. So stay tuned on Tuesdays and Fridays!_

_As always, thank you so much for continuing to read. An extra special thank you to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter: Cherylann Rivers, Rose12, Drumboy100, and angelicalkiss!_

**Chapter IV**

The next morning saw the entire household of Shadow Ranch sitting in a buckboard wagon on their way into Dry Creek for church services. Sheriff Humber encouraged all of his hired men to attend church, trusting in Providence, as he said, to ensure that no troubles arose at the ranch while they were gone, and so several of the cowhands were riding along with them, as was Shorty, the cook.

It was an uncomfortable ride since everyone had to sit on bare wooden boards that had been affixed in the back of the wagon to serve as seats. There were no backs on the seats, of course, and Nancy caught herself slouching several times even though she knew that that would make her back ache even worse later.

Bud Moore was one of the cowboys who had ridden along, and he and Bess were talking together softly the entire time, even though it meant it was necessary for Bud to turn most of the way round in his seat since Bess was sitting behind him. Dave Gregory was sitting next to him and George next to Bess, and the two of them were stiffly refusing to make eye-contact with one another. Walt Sanders had come along, too, but since there wasn't room for him in the wagon, he was riding his own horse. Hernandez and Tex Britten were the only hands missing, and that was because they had left even earlier to go to the little mission church for the Indians run by the Franciscan friars.

Nancy was surprised when she got her first sight of Dry Creek. There was only one dirt street in the town with a few scattered houses for several miles around it. There were only about five buildings along each side of the street, which ended with a white church with a tall steeple atop it and a cemetery around it. Despite the tininess of the town, there were a little more than two dozen wagons and buggies parked outside and a good deal more people arriving on foot or on horseback.

As they approached, Bess and George waved to a blonde girl who was probably about thirteen or fourteen. She smiled and waved back and waited for the other girls to catch up with her.

"Good morning," she greeted them.

"Good morning, Alice," Bess replied. "You remember us telling you about our friend, Nancy, right?"

"Yes, I do." Alice turned to Nancy with a smile. "You're the one who solves mysteries."

Nancy smiled back. "That's right. At least, I've solve a few of them."

"This is our cousin, Alice Regor," George introduced the younger girl. "She lives here in Dry Creek with her father. Say, where is he, anyway?"

Alice sighed. "He's at the bank. I tried to tell him he shouldn't work on a Sunday, but he's so far behind, he said he had to catch up while there's no customers there. My father is the manager of the bank, Nancy," she added in explanation.

"Why don't you sit with us and Uncle Ed and Aunt Bet in church, then?" Bess invited her cousin.

"Thank you," Alice replied. "That would be much nicer than sitting by myself."

They were about to walk into the church when a man hurried up to Sheriff Humber.

"Morning, Pop," Humber greeted him. "Did you find out…you know." He glanced around him. Clearly he didn't think a murder a very appropriate thing to discuss openly on the church steps on a Sunday morning, although Nancy guessed right away that that was the business that was at hand. She lingered to listen in.

Pop Hamilton – it could hardly be anyone else – seemed to share his opinion as he, too, glanced furtively about him. "That's just the thing. All of my men are accounted for. The horse Dave found up there is just one of the saddle horses I keep around for my hired men to use. Nobody even noticed he was missing until you brought him back."

Humber frowned. "Then who the…" He suddenly remembered where he was and started over. "Then who was this fellow?"

Pop shrugged and shook his head. "All I know is that he didn't have any business riding that horse, whoever he was."

He probably also didn't have any legitimate business up on Shadow Mountain, Nancy thought as the flow of people forced her to go into the church.

She sat in the Rawleys' pew along with Bess, George, Alice, and Carson. They were nearly twenty minutes early, and so Nancy spent the time sitting in silent thought. The murder mystery was getting more puzzling all the time. The victim was still not identified. Since he didn't work for Sheriff Humber or for Pop Hamilton, he either wasn't a cowboy or he worked on Crowhead Ranch. If he did work for Mrs. Hardy, perhaps one of the Shadow Ranch men had killed him over the land dispute. The only probably with that was that the only ones who would really be affected by the dispute, as Nancy understood it, were Sheriff Humber and Ruth Hardy themselves. It didn't make much sense that any of their hired men would either kill or be killed because of it.

Nancy happened to glance up and see Frank and Joe Hardy sitting across the aisle and two pews forward. Ruth was with them, as was a tall man who looked so much like an older version of Frank that Nancy guessed he had to be Fenton Hardy. Joe had happened to glance back at her at the same time and he nodded very slightly at her several times as if he was trying to tell her something. She decided she would have to talk to him after the service.

At that moment, the first strains of an organ playing "Rock of Ages" filled the church. The congregation rose as they joined in singing and the pastor entered the church. When it came time for the sermon, the pastor had such a thunderous voice and gave such a fire-and-brimstone sermon that Nancy found it impossible not to pay attention, even with an unsolved mystery to think about. Every time the pastor pounded his fist on the pulpit, the whole congregation shuddered appreciably. Nancy wondered whether this was a typical sermon in this church.

Just as the pastor was quoting "The wages of sin are death," there was a shot from somewhere outside the church. Someone near the door creamed and nearly everyone in the congregation leapt to their feet. Sheriff Humber ran for the door, as did most of the other men. None of them, however, was as fast as Nancy, who was the first person out the door. She was just in time to see three horses disappearing at the other end of the street, but the dust was so thick that she couldn't make out anything about them except that two were dark in color and the third light.

There was nothing to do about the horsemen now. Even if Nancy had had a horse, there would be no chance of following them. As these disappointing thoughts passed through Nancy's mind, she spotted the front door of the bank flapping open and shut. She remembered that Alice Regor had said that her father was working in the bank that morning, and everything began to make sense.

She set out at a run across the street. Sheriff Humber must have seen the same thing, for he came after her. Several other men, including the Hardys and their father, followed, but Nancy still arrived at the bank first. She pushed her way through the door and immediately looked around for any sign of Ross Regor.

The bank appeared to be empty. Everything was how it must have been left at the end of the last business day, except that one chair had been knocked over and the door to the vault was standing open. Nancy hastened forward to investigate that clear indication of a robbery. She had to go behind the counter to do so, but as soon as she had, she caught her breath and stopped. A man was lying full-length on his face just in front of the vault.

Sheriff Humber and the man Nancy had deduced to be Fenton Hardy pushed past her and stooped over the injured man, who groaned. Nancy felt her breath come a little easier. She hadn't stumbled over a second murder victim after all.

"Is there a doctor in this town?" Fenton Hardy asked.

"Yes, there is," Humber told him. "Walt, go fetch the doc."

Walt Sanders, who had followed them to the door of the bank, hurried away. At the same time, Alice Regor pushed her way through the crowd despite the best efforts of Bess, George, and Aunt Bet to hold her back.

"Papa!" she cried upon seeing the still form. She sank down on her knees next to him and repeated more weakly, "Papa."

Sheriff Humber, who was trying to stop the bleeding from the wound he had discovered in Ross Regor's shoulder, pushed her back. "Someone keep her back and get everybody who doesn't have any business here out."

Nancy looked around her and realized that quite a crowd of churchgoers had now assembled in the bank and many more who couldn't shove their way in through the door were just outside, trying to peer through the windows. Aunt Bet put an arm around Alice and pulled her close while Uncle Ed, Dave, and Bud began herding the excess people toward the door.

"Here, you two, too," Bud said, holding his arms out to try to haze Frank and Joe back as if they were two steers.

"Hey! We can help!" Joe protested.

"I don't see any badges on your chests," Bud replied. "The sheriff can handle this without help from you two."

Fenton had noticed what was happening. "Go on, boys. There might be something to find outside."

On hearing this, Nancy realized that she, too, could possibly be more help outside, and so she followed Frank and Joe, and the three of them went around the side of the bank to escape the crowd.

"Church sure never was this exciting back in Bayport," Joe observed, half-jokingly.

"You've got to admit, though," Frank said more seriously, "if you're going to break into a bank, Sunday morning right during church should be a safe time to do it. In a town like this, more people are off the streets then than are after dark."

"They weren't expecting Mr. Regor to be in there, though," Nancy said.

"We couldn't see from where we were standing," Frank said. "Was the vault empty?"

"It wasn't empty," Nancy told him, "but it certainly wasn't filled to brimming either. Without knowing how much money there was in there to begin with, I can't tell whether anything was taken out."

"I doubt those robbers broke into the bank and shot someone just so they could open the vault and not take any money," Joe said.

"What I meant was that they might have gotten scared and taken off without their money after the shot was fired," Frank replied. "We'll find out soon either way, I guess. Dad wanted us to look for clues out here. Any in the front of the bank would have gotten trampled by that crowd by now."

"The bank robbers would have probably come in the back, anyway, if there is a back door," Joe deduced.

As they walked around to the back, Nancy told the Hardys about the horses she had seen. She couldn't help thinking that the horses were about the same colors as the horses that had been ridden by the stagecoach robbers.

There was a confused muddle of hoofprints behind the bank and the lock on the back door was broken, but that was unhelpful except to establish that the outlaws had indeed entered through the back, although Nancy noted that at least one of them must have come back out through the front, since that door had been swinging. Even so, the detectives kept up the search for several minutes longer.

Frank spotted something shiny on the ground and stooped to pick it up. "What's this?" he asked as he held it up.

Nancy and Joe came to look at it. It was a silver pendant in the shape of a heart.

"That's just like the one that was on the bridle of that outlaw's horse," Nancy said. "The big white one. And you know, the horses that I saw today were just the right colors to be the same outlaws."

"That's not too hard to believe," Frank said. "We'd better tell Dad and the sheriff about this."

They went into the bank through the back door so that they wouldn't have to fight the crowd. The doctor had arrived and was examining Regor. A teary-eyed Alice was standing close by with Aunt Bet, Bess, and George gathered around her. Sheriff Humber and Fenton Hardy were examining the safe, while Uncle Ed, Dave, and Bud were still holding people back in front.

"How is he?" Nancy asked George in a low voice.

"We don't know yet," George replied. "The doctor is still examining him."

"Did you find anything outside, boys?" Fenton asked.

"A pretty good clue," Joe told him. "Nancy – er, Miss Drew thinks that the robbers were the same ones that held up the stagecoach."

"What makes her think that?" Humber asked.

Nancy explained and Frank showed him the silver heart.

Humber nodded. "Good thinking, Miss Drew. It reminds me of something else that needs doing that I haven't done yet. Better get it done as soon as possible. Here, Bud! I think I saw young Nickerson in the crowd out there. Fetch him for me, will you?"

"Sure, boss," Bud replied and disappeared outside. He soon returned with a dark-haired young man about Nancy's age.

"You wanted me for something, Sheriff Humber?" he asked, and he sounded a little nervous. His eyes kept straying to where Ross Regor lay on the floor.

"That's right, Ned," Humber said. "Miss Drew, this is Ned Nickerson. His father owns the local newspaper. Ned, this is Miss Nancy Drew. She was a passenger on the stage when it was robbed on Friday. We believe that the men who did this today are the same ones. She can give you a description of these men. I want you to run it in the paper this week and make up some wanted posters to put around town. All right?"

"All right, sheriff." Ned pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket. He turned to Nancy. "It's good to meet you, Miss Drew."

"Likewise, Mr. Nickerson." Nancy couldn't help smiling at him. He had a kind and pleasant face, even if he did look just a bit dandified and as if he wouldn't be able to hold his own against, say, Frank Hardy. That didn't matter so much for a newspaper man, though, Nancy supposed. They didn't have to be as tough or bold as a detective did.

"Any time you're ready, Miss Drew, you can start," Ned told her, holding the pencil poise over the paper.

"One more thing, Ned," Humber said. "Don't mention Miss Drew by name in the article."

"Yes, sir," Ned agreed.

Nancy then gave him the descriptions as Ned wrote them down.

"What makes you think it's the same men?" Ned asked when Nancy had finished.

Nancy glanced at Frank and Joe, who both shook their heads. They were right, Nancy decided. The paper had all the information now that anyone would need to identify the robbers. Anything else was part of the investigation and was just as well left as quiet as possible.

"You'll have to ask the sheriff about that," Nancy said evasively, feeling that he ought to know what was safe to share with the press and what was not. Then she thought it would be best to change the subject rather than give Ned the chance to ask any more questions about it. "I'm a little surprised that there's enough news for a paper in a little town like this. Surely this isn't a typical Sunday here."

"No." Ned glanced down at Mr. Regor, who was showing sign of beginning to stir. "No. Ordinarily, it's probably much more exciting wherever it is you come from."

"Maybe," Nancy agreed. "It's a little hard to judge right now."

"I suppose," Ned agreed. "I'd better go get these description somewhere safe so nothing happens to them."

As he hurried away, Regor groaned. Alice pulled herself away from Aunt Bet's grasp and knelt down beside her father, tears running down her cheeks.

"Papa? Papa, are you all right?" she sobbed.

"Alice?" Regor said in a faint voice.

"Now, now," the doctor interjected. "It's not such a serious wound. I think he'll be all right. We just need to get him to a more comfortable place than this. You don't live very far from here, Alice. If we can borrow a wagon, we can get him there safely, I think."

"I'll go get ours," Uncle Ed offered and he pushed his way through the crowd that was still gathered.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Frank asked.

"I doubt it," Sheriff Humber replied.

Fenton Hardy frowned. "I don't see why there's any reason we couldn't help. My boys and I are neutral in this matter, you remember."

Humber's face twitched with some unreadable expression. "Yes, I remember. If you have any ideas that we can act on now, I would like to hear them."

"I have a few ideas," Fenton said. "For one, my boys told me that one of the stagecoach robbers was riding a horse with the Hamilton brand. Have you asked Pop Hamilton about that?"

"No, not specifically," Humber replied. "I asked him about the horse the murder victim was riding. He checked over his horses, and he realized that that one was missing. If he was missing another, meaning it had been stolen, he would have told me. The horse this outlaw is riding must be one he sold."

"Don't you find it a strange coincidence, anyway?" Fenton asked.

"Nope," Humber told him. "Pop Hamilton raises more horses than any other man around here. Just go look at the horses tied up by the church. You'll find plenty with his brand on that he's sold, I'll warrant."

Fenton frowned. "He must keep records of whom he's sold horses to, at least."

"I'm sure he does, but that doesn't help us much," Humber said. "Let's see. The horse in question is a bay. No idea on the age or whether it's a mare or a gelding. There could be as many as two hundred horses that fit that description that Pop has sold over the years, and a good many of them have no doubt been sold clean out of the area or resold and there may or may not be records kept of those sales. You could spend a year trying to trace that horse and still not find it." Humber sighed and looked around him as his men began to carry Ross Regor out to the buckboard. "Look here, Mr. Hardy. I don't know if you have some idea that you and me are on opposite sides on account of this land deal. We're not. I don't bear your cousin or any of her kin any ill will over it. I can't say as I understand her reasons for kicking up all this fuss, but I can tell you that I'm willing to let the courts decide about it. Though, for that matter, if something isn't decided soon, there won't be any point in going to court over it. Morgan, the fellow who wants to buy that land, is starting to want to back out of it since the sale can't be finalized any time soon. That's all beside the point, though. As far as these robberies and the murder go, we all want to help bring the criminals to justice, and none of us ought to let any false pride stand in the way of that, right? Let's compare notes, right here and right now. We'll lay everything we know about any of these three crimes on the table. I'll go first."

He paused and took a deep breath. "Let's see. These aren't the first robberies around here recently. Each time, there's been three outlaws. The witnesses, when there are witnesses, that is, can't usually give a very good description, though the white horse is a constant feature. Thanks to Miss Drew, we now have at least fairly complete descriptions of all three men. However, I'm not convinced that they are responsible for this robbery today. It's the first time in any of them that anyone's been shot. It's pretty commonly known that Mr. Regor is absent-minded, and it looks like he forgot to bring a gun with him this morning, even though it's the policy of the bank for there to be at least one armed employee present at all times. Anyway, he couldn't have posed a threat to the outlaws, and I don't see why, if they're the same ones, they would have just up and shot Mr. Regor. Perhaps Miss Drew has some ideas?"

Nancy started a little at being called on first. "As for why they would shoot Mr. Regor, I don't know. As for whether it was the same men, I'm certain of it. That heart pendant is clear evidence."

"It could be a coincidence," Humber pointed out.

"It could be," Nancy admitted, "but I doubt it. That outlaw on the white horse has a fascination with hearts, as if they're his signature or something. There was a heart scratched into the cap of his canteen, too."

"Why would an outlaw use a heart as his signature?" Joe asked, wrinkling his nose. "Why not something intimidating, like a snake or something?"

"We can ask when we catch him," Humber replied. "I suppose you have some ideas on that, as well?"

Joe glanced at his father, who nodded. "Not about either robbery, at least, nothing that you don't already know about. We do have a possible lead on the murder."

"Were you able to identify the victim?" Fenton asked before Joe could go on.

"No, only that he is definitely not one of Pop Hamilton's boys," Humber told him.

"Then I'm afraid he might be one of my cousin's," Fenton reported. "One of her men, a Chris Mason, has been missing for the last two days. Which leaves us with a problem: there's a strong possibility that the motive for the murder is the land dispute, and we don't have a single man to investigate it that we'll all agree is neutral."

"No," Humber admitted. He considered for a few moments. "We'll have to send for one, then. It'll take some time for him to get here, but it's the only thing we can do. The Pinkerton Agency ought to be able to send us a man who would be satisfactory."

Fenton nodded. "All right. Send for one."


	6. Chapter V

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Hope you're all having a great weekend! Thanks for reading! Thank you in particular to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Rose12, Drumboy100, angelicalkiss, and Cherylann Rivers._

**Chapter V**

Late that afternoon, Nancy was in her bedroom, lying full-length on her bed. Over a week of insufficient sleep was taking its toll on her, and she had her eyes closed to rest them, but for all of that, she was far from being asleep. She was still going over the cases in her mind, though her tired brain was now fixated on the fact that the robbers had broken their pattern by shooting Ross Regor. Criminals hardly ever broke their patterns unless they had a good reason. If Regor hadn't had a gun himself, what could have their reason been?

Her mind was getting in a rut of thinking the same thing over and over without making any progress on it when someone knocked on the door. Nancy didn't even have time to sit up and invite the person in before the door was flung open and Frances stood in the doorway.

"Er, hello," Nancy said a bit uncertainly.

"I have to talk to you." Frances's voice was shaky and she had to take several deep breaths to steady it. "My father told me that you think the stagecoach robbers also robbed the bank and shot poor Mr. Regor."

"That's right," Nancy confirmed.

"Why are you interfering in this?" Frances burst out. "What do you know about tracking down outlaws? You're only going to end up hurting innocent people if you don't just let things be. My father has always done just fine as sheriff without you meddling where you don't belong."

"I don't understand," Nancy replied, although she had a sneaking suspicion she might. "What innocent people are you worried about? Those stagecoach robbers are hardly innocent."

"Well, they haven't killed anyone before," Frances pointed out, just a little bit sulkily.

"They still haven't, as long as Mr. Regor doesn't die."

"Right, of course." Frances took a few more breaths as she tried to collect herself. "It's just the bank robbery wasn't like the other robberies recently. If you jump to the conclusion that the same people are responsible with no proof, you might accuse someone who is completely innocent next time."

"I do have proof," Nancy assured her. "Believe me, one thing a good detective never does is jump to conclusions."

"What proof?"

Nancy explained about the silver heart pendant from the white horse's bridle. Rather than looking reassured, Frances looked even more concerned.

"That doesn't _really_ prove anything," she protested. "It could have been dropped some other time."

"I doubt that, since it would have had to be since Friday. That outlaw probably doesn't bring that horse into town unless he's planning on robbing someone in town."

Frances had grown pale at Nancy's first description of the pendant, and now Nancy almost thought she swayed as if she was about to faint.

"I have to go clear my head," she said and hurried away.

Nancy got up and followed her at a discreet distance. Frances fled to the stable and a few minutes later rode away on her horse. Her behavior had been too strange to ignore, so Nancy decided to follow her.

She saddled up Bob, the bay that she had ridden the day before, and took off after Frances. At first, Nancy was afraid that she might not be able to follow her trail as Frances was already out of sight, but she went in the same direction and before long spotted Frances galloping ahead of her. She held back so that Frances wouldn't realize she was being followed.

Eventually, Frances stopped beside a scraggly tree and glanced around her. Nancy hid behind a large rock just in time. Frances took something out of her pocket and placed it under a stone next to the tree. Then, with a last glance around, she rode off again.

Nancy waited until she was out of sight and then rode down to the tree and picked up the object that Frances had left. It was an envelope with a single name written on it: Dirk. Nancy hesitated for a moment, torn between her conscience which told her to put the envelope back and her detective instinct which told her to read the contents. Then she noticed that Frances had evidently forgotten to seal the envelope. That seemed a good enough compromise, Nancy decided, and she slipped the letter out.

It was short and to the point:

_Dearest Dirk,_

_ I have to speak to you at once. I'll meet you at your hiding place early tomorrow. Please be there!_

_ Love,_

_ Frances_

Nancy folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. Frances' odd behavior was beginning to make sense now.

NDNDNDNDND

The sun didn't set until late that time of year, although it began getting cooler, and so Frank and Joe found a place outside to talk about the case thus far. Several of the cowboys were also taking advantage of the few hours of bearable temperatures and were sitting around a campfire that they had built. One of them, a little fellow named Terry who was only about five-foot-one (he generally insisted on rounding up to five-foot-two since he "had his doubts" about the accuracy of his measurements), was playing his guitar and the soft strains of "Jeanie with the Light-Brown Hair" made a strangely sleepy background for the Hardys' discussion.

"I hate to ask this," Joe said in a very low voice, not wanting to be overheard by any of the men, "but do you think we can trust Nancy? I like her well enough, but we don't know anything about her."

Frank happened to be holding a stick and he traced an unintelligible line in the dry dirt before he answered. "As far as the murder goes, I'm almost certain we can. I mean, obviously she couldn't be the murderer, since she had just arrived on the stagecoach. The only possible reason we couldn't trust her on that one would be if someone she knows is the murderer and she decides to try to protect him."

"Oh, I don't think she had anything to do with the murder," Joe said. "I was talking more about the land dispute. What if she's trying to learn things from us that her father could use in the lawsuit against Cousin Ruth? If she's any good as a detective, she ought to know how to get information for people without them realizing it."

"And if we're any good as detectives, we ought to be able to tell when someone is trying to pump us," Frank pointed out. "Anyway, I'd rather focus on the murder and the robberies than the land dispute. I mean, you know as well as I do why Dad insists on being 'neutral' about it."

Joe nodded with a faint grin. "Because he thinks Cousin Ruth is wrong but he doesn't want to openly say that until he knows it beyond a doubt."

"Exactly," Frank agreed. "Personally, I think Cousin Ruth is wrong, too. Even if her cows wander onto that property now and again, it's not like she's really getting anything out of it."

"Not to mention that if the whole delay is going to cause Morgan to back out of the sale, Cousin Ruth won't get anything out of it even if she does win the lawsuit." Joe rest his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. "What I want to know is why Morgan just offered to buy the land for so much more than it's worth rather than just ask Sheriff Humber if he could do his archaeology stuff there. I'm sure Humber would have let him."

"That is strange," Frank said. "I think just the two of us should go up to Shadow Mountain the first chance we get and try to figure it out. We can take our time and maybe learn something about the murder, too."

At that moment, one of the cowhands walked past, and overhearing the last part of Frank's statement, he stopped. His name was Pymatuno, and he was from one of the Zuni Indian tribe in New Mexico. Why he had come to Arizona to work as a cowhand, he didn't say.

"Excuse me," he said. His English was perfect. "I didn't mean to listen to your conversation, but I heard you mention the murder. I've been wondering about it all day since we realized Mason was missing. Have you learned who the victim was yet?"

"Not yet," Frank told him. "Hank and Cousin Ruth are going to go into town tomorrow to see if they can identify him."

"I hope it isn't Mason," Pymatuno said. "He's a good man. Still, I don't know of any other reason why he would be gone for so long."

Terry, the guitarist cowboy, had in the meantime switched from the wistful tone of "Jeanie with the Light-Brown Hair" to the rollicking tune of "Sweet Betsy from Pike".

…_They fought with the Indians with musket and ball;_

_They reached California in spite of it all._

_Sing tu-rally…_

Hank, the foreman, approached the group around the campfire for the first time. "Cut out that yammering, Terry. You shouldn't ought to be playing songs like that of a Sunday."

Terry stopped abruptly. "You're right," he said with a mischievous grin. "A hymn would be much more appropriate." He rearranged his fingers on the strings and then started belting out a new tune:

_Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;_

_He is tram…_

He got no further before Hank grabbed the guitar out of his hands and bellowed, "You stop singing that Yankee trash before I break your guitar over your head!"

Terry jumped to his feet. "I can play whatever I want. There's no need to be such a sore loser just because your side lost."

Hank shot his fist out, but Terry was as agile as he was small and he ducked out of the way. Frank jumped up and hurried forward to get between the two of them before any more blows could be exchanged.

"Look here!" Frank said. "There's no need for fighting. It's just a song."

Hank glared at him and then unexpectedly spit on his boot. "You'd change your tune pretty fast if was 'Dixie' he was playing, Yankee."

"No, I wouldn't," Frank insisted.

"Come on, Hank," one of the other cowhands, a man named Pete, said. "Let's not fight the Civil War over again. I had enough of it the first time around. Anyhow, Terry's half your size and Frank's half your age. The two of them together wouldn't be a match for you."

Terry clenched his fists. "I can reach just fine to punch him in the nose, the dirty reb."

"You've been spoiling for a fight, haven't you, boy?" Hank held up his own fists again.

It might have come to blows again, and Frank may or may not have joined himself, rankled in his soul as he was by Pete's implication that he wouldn't be able to stand up to Hank. However, the fight was stopped before it was begun when Ruth Hardy came out of the house and demanded in no uncertain terms that there wasn't to be any fighting.

Hank tossed Terry's guitar on the ground and slunk away. Terry picked it up, along with his hat which had fallen off when he had ducked Hank's blow and stalked off with somewhat more dignity.

Joe relaxed. Half of him had almost hoped that it would come to blows so that he'd have an excuse to jump in and prove that Western men didn't have the coin on fighting, but the more reasonable half of him didn't want Hank to have any more reason for hating him and Frank.

"After ten years, you'd think they'd be over it by now," Joe observed, feeling the need to say something, even if he didn't necessarily believe what he was saying.

Pymatuno shook his head. "Losing your way of life isn't an easy thing to just get over."

Joe glanced at him. "I guess you're right."

Then Pymatuno straightened up and set his jaw. "Still, like in all other instances, the easy thing isn't the courageous thing. The sooner we all just accept each other as neighbors, the better off we'll be."

An idea struck Joe. "Do you know if Mason was a Southerner or a Northerner?"

"A Southerner," Pymatuno told him. "But he took it better than some I could mention."

"Interesting." Joe bit his lip thoughtfully as a whole new possible motive for the murder occurred to him.

NDNDNDNDND

The sun hadn't risen yet the next morning and Nancy, Bess, and George were waiting behind the chicken coop for Frances to put in an appearance. Nancy had told them about the letter she had read and her suspicion that Frances was carrying on a love affair with one of the outlaws.

"It's much more romantic than anything I would have thought Frances was capable of," Bess was saying. "From your description of that one outlaw, it would be hard for anyone not to fall in love with him."

George glanced toward the sky with a "Heaven, help us"-type expression.

"It explains a lot," Nancy said. "Frances' habit of sneaking off, her not wanting me to investigate, her outburst yesterday, even her coldness toward her father."

"I was wondering even before this if she was sneaking off to meet a man," Bess went on. She sighed. "I had no idea that it was _this_ romantic."

"If you say the word 'romantic' on more time," George began, but she dropped the treat abruptly when Dave Gregory approached the group.

"Morning, ladies," he greeted them. He would have hurried on his way, but George stopped him.

"Wait. I've been wanting to talk to you. About the other day."

Dave shifted his feet and looked at the ground. "No explaining necessary, ma'am."

"I wasn't going to explain," George told him. "I wanted to ask you if you told anybody."

"Only Miss Marvin," Dave said, looking a little confused.

"Oh, George, you'd think it was some kind of terrible secret," Bess interjected. "I might have mentioned it to Aunt Bet, not that it's a big thing."

"Wait a moment, Mr. Gregory," Nancy requested. "We're planning on riding back up to Shadow Mountain at some point, but we need to learn exactly where you found that body."

Dave started. "You'd better not go up there, Miss Drew. Is that where you're going now?"

"No," Nancy told him. "At least, I don't think so. But why shouldn't we go up there? Surely, the murderer isn't still up there?"

Dave sighed. "Sheriff said you were some kind of detective. Are you waiting here for Miss Humber?"

Now it was Nancy's turn to be surprised. "You must be a detective yourself."

"Hardly," Dave told her, "but I'm afraid I might know who the murderer is, and if you're planning on following Miss Humber, you're going to walk right into him."

"You'd better explain," Nancy said.

"Well…" Dave put his hands on his hips and shook his head as he looked at the ground. "I didn't want to say anything because I didn't know for sure. I…no. I've been trying to decide what to do. I think Miss Humber's beau is an outlaw."

"That's nothing new," George said.

"You knew about that?" Dave asked.

"We don't know anything much for sure ourselves," Nancy told him. "We know that Frances is going to meet with someone named Dirk early this morning and we think he might be an outlaw. What makes you think he is?"

"Miss Humber not wanting to tell anybody about him, for one thing," Dave said. "And that I've seen him hiding up by the cliff houses for another. That also makes me wonder if he's the one who killed that fellow."

"Then why haven't you told the sheriff about it?" George asked.

Dave hesitated. "I didn't want the sheriff to get the wrong idea about me. I wouldn't even know Miss Humber had a beau if I hadn't been following her one day."

"Why were you following her?" Nancy asked.

"I expect for the same reason you are," Dave said. "I suspected she was up to something. Then I saw her riding near Shadow Mountain one day. I followed her, and she met with a man. I figured it was none of my business, so I didn't say anything. Then Miss Humber caught me 'spying' on them the other day. Thursday, the day before the murder. I just stumbled on them by accident, I swear. Miss Humber told that if I told her father, she'd deny every word and say that I…" He paused. "Well, she'd make sure I got fired, anyway. I can't afford to lost this job, especially not if I lose my reputation along with it. That is, if the sheriff doesn't just put me in jail or shoot me instead of just firing me."

"That should be avoided if we can manage it," Nancy told him as an understatement. "We want to have a talk with Frances' beau. Do you want to come with us?"

"I think I'd better, if I can't convince you not to go," Dave replied. "You got horses saddled?"

"Saddled and ready," Nancy said.

"Then I'd better go saddle mine," Dave said and headed off in the direction of the stable.

"What if it turns out he is the murderer?" Bess asked in a low voice. "Maybe he just wants to get us out in the desert alone so he can kill us, too."

"You're the one who was saying what a nice fellow he was the other day," George reminded her.

"Yeah, but I could be wrong," Bess pointed out. "You're the one who's always telling me I need to be more suspicious of handsome men."

"I think we can trust Mr. Gregory," Nancy said. "At the very least, I doubt he's planning on murdering us."

"I'd still feel better if we at least took Mr. Hernandez along," Bess insisted.

"Not when we're spying on his boss's daughter," Nancy said. "If we're wrong and we let too many people in on our suspicions, we could really do Frances some harm."

"That's true," Bess admitted.

Dave returned a few minutes later. The four of them waited until Frances emerged from the house, went to the stable, and rode away on her horse. Nancy and her companions waited a few more minutes before they retrieved their own horses and followed her. They kept their distance since they were already fairly sure where she was headed, although there wasn't much chance of her noticing them following her in the very first glimmerings of light. Sure enough, she headed straight up Shadow Mountain.

Her followers shortened the distance hurriedly then since they suspected she was near the end of her ride and they wanted to miss as little of the meeting as possible. Even so, by the time they reached the cliff houses, they could already hear Frances and a man talking to each other.

Dawn was casting its first pale light as they crept closer and caught their first glimpse of Frances and her lover. There could be no doubt now that that was exactly what he was. Frances had let her long, dark hair down and she was wrapped in his arms as they shared a long, passionate kiss.

Nancy and her companions took a step back in discomfiture. Of course, they should have expected to walk in on just such a scene, but it came as a surprise nonetheless. They all stepped behind one of the walls while they tried to decide the best way to handle the situation.

It was several minutes before they heard the low voices of the lovers talking urgently again.

"I'm ready at any time, Dirk," Frances was saying. "We can go anywhere you say. I don't care. It's our only chance."

"I know, but I do care," Dirk told her. "I want better for you than that. Then there's the other men. I can't just leave them."

"Why not?" Frances demanded.

"They wouldn't last without me," Dirk said. "It's getting hard enough to keep them under control as it is. Without anyone to guide them, they'll never make it on their own."

Frances was silent for a moment or two. "But you have kept them under control, haven't you?"

"Of course," Dirk assured her. "Why would you ask that?"

Frances hesitated. "That Nancy Drew I told you about thinks that you and the others are the ones who robbed the bank yesterday and shot Mr. Regor."

"What?" Dirk asked. Nancy thought his surprise sounded a little forced, but she could have just been hearing what she wanted to hear. "I hadn't even heard that that had happened yet. I'd like to talk to this Nancy Drew."

That seemed as good a cue as any. Nancy nodded to her companions and they stepped out in full view of Dirk and Frances. Dave made sure to step in front of the girls with his gun drawn.

"I'd like to talk to you, too," Nancy said.

"You!" Frances shouted and jumped in front of Dirk as if she expected Dave to gun him down then and there.

"Who are you?" Dirk demanded, gently pushing Frances out of the way so that he could step forward.

"Nancy Drew," Nancy introduced herself and then her companions. She paused, not sure what would be the best way to proceed. "Thank you for giving us some water before you left us stranded in the desert."

"Right. The girl from the stagecoach." Dirk sighed. "You recognized me? Then you must be the one who gave those descriptions on those wanted posters all over town."

"Where are your friends?" Dave asked.

Dirk shrugged. "I wouldn't know. As you can see, I was planning to meet my girl, not get ambushed."

"Nancy, you can't do this," Frances wailed. "Bess, surely you understand. Don't forget what I'm going to tell my father, Dave."

"I think he'll find it a lot less convincing if we haul in the beau himself," Dave pointed out.

"We're going to have to take you in to the sheriff, Mr.…?" Nancy said.

Dirk wasn't wearing a gun belt, and he could see that escape wasn't possible. Even so, he held himself proudly as he said, "Valentine. The name's Dirk Valentine. At least now I can let you all know that."

Frances was in tears. "Please, he's never hurt anyone. Just let him go and we'll leave."

"We can't do that," Nancy told her, not without feeling a little sorry. "We've got to take him in."

NDNDNDNDND

Ned Nickerson was back in the newspaper office first thing on Monday morning. Despite the previous day being Sunday, he had worked hard to get the wanted posters printed and posted around town. Now he had to get the weekly edition of the _Dry Creek Gazette_ ready to print. It was more of a journal than a newspaper, with both his parents, James and Edith, and sometimes himself writing editorials, book reviews, and bits of poetry to supply against the lack of news. There weren't many in Dry Creek who were interested in reading that sort of thing, though they all always bought the paper as a matter of habit.

It was before six in the morning, and there were very few people up and about in town. Even Ned's parents were at home, probably still asleep, and he was in the office alone. He was in the back room, making some adjustments to the printing press, when he heard the bell above the front door jangle to announce a visitor. With mild annoyance at the interruption so early in the morning, he wiped his hands and came out to see who was there. He froze when he saw that it was two men with bandanas over their faces.

"Hey, newspaper boy," one of them growled, "where's the owner of this paper? This 'J. Nickerson'?"

"He's not here," Ned told him. "What do you want?"

The one who hadn't yet spoken held up one of the wanted posters that the sheriff had ordered. "Information. Who gave you this description?"

Ned swallowed hard. "You'll have to ask the sheriff about that. I only printed what he told me to."

"Oh, _you_ printed it," the man replied. "Then you ought to know who gave the description."

There was a knot in Ned's stomach as he wondered just what the next few minutes would bring. Still, he made up his mind that he wasn't go to tell these men anything, and, if possible, he would mislead them. "He…er, the person gave it to the sheriff."

"'He', huh?" the masked man said. "Then you know exactly who it was. I want you to give him a message. Retract those descriptions or he's going to get hurt."

"Then they must be accurate descriptions," Ned said with more courage than prudence.

"You don't listen so well, newspaper boy," the first outlaw said. "Maybe we'd better make sure you remember to give that message."

He and his companion took a step forward. Ned involuntarily reached for the doorknob behind him, but his unguided hand couldn't find it. He felt his breath come out in a harsh rush and he realized that seat was on his brow. Then he made his decision. If he couldn't avoid what was about to happen, then at least he'd try to fight back.


	7. Chapter VI

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read! Thank you especially to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Rose12, Drumboy100, angelicalkiss, and jb8410!_

**Chapter VI**

Nancy had almost a sick feeling as she rode along with Bess and George behind her. Dave was ahead of them, and he had a lead rope that was tied to the bridle of Dirk Valentine's majestic white horse. Dirk, for his part, was sitting as straight and proud as he could with his hands bound behind his back. Frances was riding at his side. She had been sobbing, but now she merely sat in stony silence, refusing to even so much as look at Nancy or her friends.

Dirk wasn't the first criminal whom Nancy had captured. He wasn't even one of the first ones. Yet, this time, she felt as if she had played a dirty trick to capture him, following his girl and then watching them for a few seconds before springing the trap. She would have almost rather if Frances had been one of Dirk's associates instead of his lover. Somehow, that would make the capture seem less underhanded, and a little less unsuccessful. After all, Dirk still had at least two associates who needed to be captured, and from the looks of things, he wasn't about to be at all helpful with that.

"When you held up the stagecoach," Nancy said, feeling that reminding herself of that incident would help soothe her conscience a bit, "why didn't you talk at all, Mr. Valentine? I was thinking that that other man was the leader."

"No sense letting anyone hear my voice more than I can help and give them another handle that they could use to recognize me," Dirk replied, though he was speaking stiffly. "The boys don't think that far ahead, and they like making themselves feel important." He sighed. "It doesn't make much difference now, though, I guess."

"It might help you if you told us who your associates are and where we can find them," George said.

Dirk said nothing.

It was still early when they reached Dry Creek, a little after seven or so in the morning. They went straight for the sheriff's office. Humber hadn't arrived yet that morning, but his deputy, Curtis, was there. He looked up in amazement at the unusual group that entered his office.

"Well, now, what's this?" he asked.

"We caught one of those outlaws that robbed the stagecoach and the bank," Dave told him.

"That's a lie!" Frances burst out, breaking the silence. "He didn't rob anyone!"

"And I sure didn't shoot anyone," Dirk added.

Deputy Curtis cast an uncertain glance at Dave, evidently wondering why his boss's daughter was so vehement in defending the man.

"I was one of the passengers on the stage on Friday," Nancy spoke up. "I'm sure this is one of the men, and he as much as admitted it when we caught him."

"It's not true!" Frances insisted.

Curtis scratched his head. "Well, I reckon I better lock him up till the sheriff gets here and can clear this all up. What's your name, anyway, fellow?"

"Dirk Valentine." Dirk held his head up proudly.

Deputy Curtis locked him in one of the cells and sat down to fill out some paperwork, which evidently included looking at the wanted poster and informing Nancy and the others that Dirk "sure 'nough looked like one o' them fellers."

In the midst of this, a man ran into the sheriff's office, his face deadly pale. "Help! Help!" he shouted. "Come quick! I think they've murdered him!" His eyes became teary and he broke off into a string of curses toward "them."

"Hold on there, Nickerson," the deputy told him. "What happened? Who's been murdered?"

"My boy," the man said, his voice almost a whimper. "Down at the paper. He went down there by himself early and when I got there…You'd best come quick."

"I'd best go," the deputy agreed. "You stay here and keep an eye on that outlaw, Dave."

He strapped on his gun belt and ran out on James Nickerson's heels. Nancy, Bess, and George followed them, both curious to find out what was going on and eager to be of any help if they could. They all stopped stock still when they entered the front door of the newspaper office. Papers, desks, and chairs were thrown around the floor. Even the pictures on the walls were taken down and slashed with a knife, and anything that could be smashed, had been. James seemed oblivious to that, though. He at once rushed to the side of a young man who was lying unmoving on his back on the floor. It was Ned, Nancy realized with a pang, though his bruised and bloodied face bore little resemblance to the handsome man she had met the day before.

James held one of his son's hands in his own, his face a picture of utter dismay. "They've killed him, haven't they?" he said through his tears.

The deputy stooped down over Ned and held his ear close to his mouth to listen for any sound of breathing. "No, they haven't killed him," he reported. "Though they did give him a good pounding, whoever 'they' are. One of you girls run get the doctor, will you?"

"I'll do it," George offered and dashed away.

Deputy Curtis turned to James. "Any idea of who 'they' are?"

"None," James said. Though his tears had abated since Curtis' announcement that Ned wasn't killed, he still had his son's hand clasped in his own. "I don't know why anyone would do this. We don't have any enemies. I don't think."

"Would you mind if we looked around a bit?" Nancy asked. "We might be able to find something."

"No, I don't care," James said. "Where is that doctor?"

Nancy and Bess, along with Deputy Curtis, made a brief search of the office, but they found nothing before George and the doctor returned. Then they all gathered around Ned once again.

The doctor waved a phial of smelling salts under Ned's nose and after a few moments, he moaned and blinked.

"Ned? Ned?" James said, hope in his voice.

"What happened, boy? Who did this?" Curtis demanded.

"Here, just let him be," the doctor told them. "You don't say a word, Ned, until I've had a chance to see how you are."

Ned blinked again, but whether he had understood a word any of them had said was doubtful.

The doctor began his examination. It was several minutes later that he announced, "I think he'll be just fine. He'll need to rest up a while, though, and he's got a couple of broken ribs I need to tape up. I don't like that head injury much, either, but with plenty of rest he ought to be all right."

"Thank goodness," James breathed in relief.

"Can he tell me what happened now?" Curtis asked.

"I don't think he'd better talk much," the doctor said. "It's clear enough what happened, so there's no point in telling the whole story over again. The only question is who it was. Did you know the men who did this, Ned?"

"No," Ned told him. Speaking seemed to be an effort. He closed his eyes for a few moments to rest. When he opened them again, he looked around at the faces hovering over him, and his eyes stopped on Nancy's. "Miss Drew?"

"Yes?" Nancy asked, surprised that almost his first words on waking up were addressed to her.

"They sent you a message." Ned paused to rest again for a moment. "Retract your descriptions or…they'll do the same to you."

"It must have been the outlaws, then," Nancy said.

"But I thought you captured one of 'em," the deputy said, scratching his head.

"We did," Nancy told him. "Mr. Nickerson, how many men were there?"

Ned swallowed. "Two."

"Well, then, that's all right," Deputy Curtis said. "It must have been the other two asides the one you caught."

"That's enough questioning for now," the doctor said. "He needs some sleep. You live a good, long ways out of town, Jim. I don't think you'd better haul him all the way out there just yet. Better get him a room at the hotel."

"Right," James agreed. He looked up at Nancy and her friends. "Would one of you young ladies mind running across the street and getting a key to one of the rooms?"

"Of course not," Nancy said. She was even more eager to be of help now for she felt that she was partly responsible for what had happened to Ned.

"While you do that, George and I will go back to the jail and make sure Frances is all right," Bess said.

"We will?" George looked at her askance. Right now, she didn't much care how Frances was.

"Yes, we will." Bess grabbed her by the arm and half dragged her outside.

As she was leaving herself, Nancy heard Deputy Curtis offer to help James carry Ned across the street.

The hotel seemed to be mostly empty, and Nancy had no trouble securing a room, even this early in the morning. James and Curtis, carrying Ned and followed by the doctor, arrived a few moment later, and Nancy went upstairs with them to unlock the door.

"I'll tape up his ribs now," the doctor said, "then I've got some other patients to see to. You send for me quick, though, if he starts having any trouble seeing or talking or remembering things. Not about those fellows beating him up. That's normal for his memories of that to be a little fuzzy. Just if he can't remember thing he ought to remember. Be sure to wake him up every now and again, just to make sure he's all right. And remember to keep a close eye on him for the next day or two. It can take that long for head injuries to start showing signs of being a bigger problem."

James nodded. "I need to go fetch my wife and tell her what happened. Miss Drew, would you mind terribly staying with my son until I get back? It'll take a couple of hours or so to ride out there and back."

"I'd be happy to," Nancy assured him.

NDNDNDNDND

Bess and George reached the sheriff's office just as Humber himself was riding up. They called his name and hurried forward.

"There you two are," he said. "We've been wondering where you all went. Shorty said he saw you ride out practically in the middle of the night with Miss Drew and Dave." He chuckled. "Can't say things have been dull since Miss Drew arrived."

"No," George agreed, "and things are about to get less dull again, I'm afraid."

"Tell me inside." Humber started to climb the steps into the office.

"I really think you'd better hear it before you go inside," Bess said.

Humber lifted an eyebrow, but he stopped and asked Bess to explain. He listened to her hasty account of the morning's discoveries with a nearly expressionless face, though his mouth tightened as Bess told him about Frances and her beau. Even so, whether he was surprised, disappointed, aggrieved, hurt, or even impressed was next to impossible to tell. His face didn't change in the slightest and he didn't say a word or move for a long time after Bess finished speaking.

"Frances is still in there?" he asked finally.

"I think so," Bess told him.

He sighed and then climbed up the steps as slowly as if he was scaling a mountain. Bess and George followed him.

The scene inside the sheriff's office was much as any of them might have expected. Dirk was standing in the middle of his cell with his back to the rest of the office and his arms crossed. Frances was sitting in a chair with her head resting on her hand and her eyes blinking away tears, while Dave was standing by uncomfortably and looking like he would rather be just about anywhere but here. He breathed a sigh of relief when the sheriff entered the room.

Frances looked up. "Father, this is all a misunderstanding. Please! Dirk didn't do anything!"

Humber's eyes were fixed on the man in the cell. "Is that true, Valentine?" Humber asked.

"There's no use pretending it is," Dirk said, but even in his defeat, he sounded proud. "Your eye witness made sure of that."

"But he's never hurt anybody," Frances insisted. "He's only ever stolen from people who already have plenty of money. And he's never even shot his gun before on a robbery."

"It's all right, Frances," Dirk broke in, turning around. He fixed a steely gaze on Humber. "I've had run-ins with sheriffs before. I'm sure none of those details make any difference at all."

Rather than giving an answer, Humber turned to Dave. "Where did Curtis go?"

Dave explained and Humber nodded gruffly.

"No end to trouble this morning, is there?" he observed.

"Actually, there's even more than that," George spoke up. "When Mr. Nickerson came to, he said that the whole thing was meant to be a warning to Nancy to retract her description of the robbers."

Humber turned to Dirk once again. "What do you know about this, Valentine?"

"Nothing," Dirk insisted. "I'd never order my men to do anything so stupid, and I doubt even they could be stupid enough to do it on their own. It's a mistake, a misunderstanding. This Nickerson is confused or he's lying."

George raised her eyebrow. It was an obvious and clumsy lie, almost too obvious and clumsy for her to believe that anyone would bother to tell it. She glanced at Bess, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Be that as it may," Humber said, "there's someone dangerous about. Dave, Mrs. Rawley is over at the Regor place taking care of Ross. Go back to the ranch and get a wagon and a couple of men and fetch Mrs. Rawley, Ross, and Alice all back to the ranch. I don't think they ought to be all alone out there. See if Jim Nickerson wants us to fetch his boy back there, too, just in case those snakes come back."

Dave nodded and hurried away, glad to have some other task to do besides standing guard.

Bess and George also wandered outside, feeling that their presence would probably only make things even more uncomfortable for the Humbers.

"Being in love with an outlaw is _so_ romantic," George said. "Heartbreak and lies and innocent people getting hurt. A perfect fairytale."

"It is sort of romantic, in a tragic sort of way," Bess insisted. "Sort of like Romeo and Juliet."

George made a face. "Which is the most unromantic romance ever. If they would have both just grown up a few years, the whole thing wouldn't have happened."

"Romances don't have to end happily," Bess argued. "Or be about the strongest and wisest and best people. It doesn't even necessarily have to be a love story. After all, stories about knights fighting dragons are always romances, even if the princess doesn't play a very big part. I think the main purpose of romances is to take us out of our ordinary lives and show us a world where the colors are brighter and bolder and sharper than in our world, even when they're somber colors."

George looked around her. "Well, the colors look the same to me as they always have. The only difference is that I feel kind of sick. Anyway, I hope I never fall in love if it makes you as stupid as Frances is being."

Bess sighed and shook her head. "You just don't understand, do you?"

NDNDNDNDND

Frank and Joe were saddling up their horses to make another trip out to Shadow Mountain, when they heard their father calling their names.

"We're over here, Dad!" Joe shouted as he continued to fasten cinches and the breast collar on the saddle.

A few moments later, Fenton Hardy reached their side. "Where are you boys going?" he asked.

"We're headed up to Shadow Mountain again," Frank told him. "We want to have time to look around all we want."

Fenton nodded. "Good thinking. I found out from some of the men that Chris Mason has some family back in Kansas. I'm going to go with Ruth into town when she goes to try to identify the body. If it Mason, we'll telegraph his family and see if they can give us any clues about why anyone would kill him. The men told me something else, too. What was your run-in with Hank last night about?"

"Oh, some of the men were having an argument about the War," Frank explained. "I just stepped in to try to calm things down. As a matter of fact, the whole incident gave Joe the idea that maybe Mason was killed by someone who disagreed with him about the War."

"It's possible." Fenton shook his head with a grim smile. "For someone that everyone seems to have liked, there seem to be plenty of motives for someone to have killed him. The War, the land dispute, or the outlaws could have killed him."

"Or Morgan," Frank added. "He's still a mysterious factor in all of this."

"There's one thing I just can't work out," Joe said. "Why would have Mason been riding one of Pop Hamilton's horses? He had his own horse. And where did that horse go? It just vanished, too."

"Maybe it wasn't Mason who was killed after all," Frank said. "He might have just left for some reasons of his own and it just happened to be the same night as the murder."

"Or Mason could be the murderer," Joe suggested. "That could be why he's disappeared."

"Well, we'll have a better idea after Ruth takes a look at that body," Fenton said.

"Any news on when the Pinkerton man is supposed to get here?" Frank asked.

"Not yet," Fenton told him. "I'll ask the sheriff about that when we get into town."

Ruth Hardy approached the group now. She had traded in her working clothes for a long blue dress, and her hair was arranged more stylishly than usual for a Monday morning. "I'm ready to go any time, Fenton," she said.

"All right," Fenton agreed. He turned to his sons one more time. "Be careful, and try not to cross Hank again."

"Hank?" Ruth's face took on a troubled look. "Has he been causing you boys more trouble?"

"Nothing we can't take care of," Joe said with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he glanced at his father.

Ruth bit her lip. "I was afraid of that when I saw what was happening last night. I'm afraid it might be my fault."

"I don't see what you could have done," Frank assured her. "We'll try to steer clear of Hank."

"I don't know that that's going to do you much good," Ruth said. "Hank is…Well, you boys just be careful, all right?"

Frank and Joe assured her that they would be. Then they climbed up on their horses and rode off in the direction of Shadow Mountain, but as they rode, they both wondered why Ruth would possibly think that she was to blame for Hank's ill temper.

NDNDNDNDND

"Is there anything I can get for you?" Nancy asked before she sat down. The doctor had just left, and now she was alone in the hotel room with Ned, who seemed to more awake now.

"No, I don't think so, but thank you," Ned replied. He was finding it less painful to speak and breathe once his broken ribs had been tended to.

Nancy sat in a chair along the wall of the room. The realization had just struck her that this was going to be a long few hours before Ned's parents returned. It wasn't even as if she could get any clues to the mystery, as the doctor had told her in no uncertain terms that Ned shouldn't be made to talk about it just yet and that he shouldn't talk very much about anything else.

Even so, Nancy couldn't help but say, "I'm really sorry about this. I feel like it was partly my fault."

"No, it's all right," Ned told her. "If you don't mind, I'd rather talk about something else."

"You're not supposed to be talking about anything," Nancy reminded him.

"Yeah, I know." Ned looked up at Nancy. "Then maybe you could just talk to me."

"About what?" Nancy asked.

"Anything," Ned replied. "Anything that will take my mind off it."

Nancy smiled sympathetically. "All right. Well…I'm not as good at carrying on a one-sided conversation as my friend, Bess, is, but I can give it a try. I'm from River Heights. It's a little town, not too far from Chicago. My father is a lawyer and I'm a bit of a detective."

"I wouldn't think a girl like you would be a detective," Ned murmured. Then he seemed to remember himself and said in a stronger voice, "That is…Nothing against girls…women, of course. What I meant was…" He sighed. "Try to ignore me. I'm an idiot at the best of times, even when I haven't been beaten over the head. And everywhere else."

"Don't worry about it," Nancy reassured him. "You're not the first person who's said that."

"You must be tired of it," Ned said. "I'm sorry. That's where I should have started off, isn't it?"

"The only thing you have to be sorry about is talking far too much about it when you're not supposed to be talking at all," Nancy told him. She paused. "I know most people don't expect women to work as a detective. Most women wouldn't want to. For that matter, most men wouldn't want to. I've met a few women who have applauded me for it. Basically, they were proud of me for doing a man's job. But that's not the way I look at it. I don't want to be a detective to prove that women can be detectives. I don't even want to do it to prove that _I_ can be a detective. I've seen enough people set out to do something just to prove to some anonymous crowd of hecklers that they can to know that people with that attitude usually end up bitter and angry, and it's even worse if they happen to fail in whatever they're doing. From what I've seen, it's the people who set out to do something because it's a good thing to do, because it makes the world a little more beautiful or a little more just or a little bit kinder, who are really happy, whether they succeed or fail. I want to be a detective because I can do a lot of good as a detective. And so, as far as that goes, it really doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

"You know, when you think about it, I'd almost rather people are skeptical of me as a detective just because I'm a girl or because of my age. For one thing, it's a lot easier to solve mysteries when everyone is underestimating you. For another, people should be skeptical of detectives when they first meet them. At least, sheriffs and other law officers should be. They shouldn't just assume a detective knows what he or she is doing just because he is a man or she is a woman. If I'm any good as a detective, then people can decide that based on evidence once they see me work."

She stopped talking when she noticed that Ned seemed to be drifting off to sleep. She felt a pang of sympathy. She hoped Dirk Valentine would talk and give the names of his two compatriots so that Sheriff Humber could arrest them and put an end to all this before anyone else got hurt, but somehow Nancy had a feeling that it would be a long time before it would end.


	8. Chapter VII

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thanks for continuing to read! It's not quite Friday yet where I'm at, but since it is in most of the rest of the world and since I'm awake this late working this story, I thought I'd go ahead and post the next chapter. As always, thank you very, very much to all my reviewers for the last chapter: Rose12, Drumboy100, angelicalkiss, and Cherylann Rivers! You are very much appreciated!_

**Chapter VII**

Nancy was in the sheriff's office when Fenton and Ruth Hardy arrived. They both seemed a good deal more agitated than they had the other times Nancy had met them, although they were hardly the only ones feeling that was. Sheriff Humber was supposedly working on some paperwork, but he was spending more time clutching his pen until his knuckles turned white or bowing his head in thought than writing. Deputy Curtis, seeing his boss's quiet anger, had found an excuse to leave the office. Frances had long since run off somewhere, and to Nancy's surprise, Humber had made no attempt to stop her. Dave had still not returned from going to the ranch to get the wagon. Dirk was sitting on the bunk in an unemotional silence that the Stoics might have admired. As for Nancy, Bess, and George, the sobering events of the morning so far were weighing heavily on their minds and they were also sitting in silent thought about them on a bench that was against one of the walls of the office.

The Hardys had been in the room for nearly a half minute without Humber taking the least notice of them. Finally, Genton cleared his throat loudly, and Humber seemed to shake himself out of his reverie.

"Oh, Mrs. Hardy. Mr. Hardy." Humber acknowledged each of them with a nod. "You're here to take a look at that body."

"That's right." Fenton's voice was as tight as his face. "At least, Ruth is. If the body is really Chris Mason's, I found out he has some relatives over in Kansas."

"Good," Humber said absently. "No need to worry them until we know something for sure."

Fenton nodded, though the action had a rather preoccupied air to it, especially since the next thing he said was, "We shouldn't telegraph them until we know whether this fellow is Mason or not."

Neither he nor Humber seemed to notice that he had repeated what the sheriff had just said.

"The body's down at the undertaker's," Humber said. "If you'll come with me, Mrs. Hardy. Where did Curtis go? Oh, that's right. Mr. Hardy, would you mind keeping an eye on things here until I'm back?"

"All right," Fenton agreed, and he took a seat as soon as his cousin and the sheriff had left. Then he seemed to remember his manners and greeted Nancy and her friends.

The girls returned the greeting and then Bess asked, "Is something wrong, Mr. Hardy?"

"No, not exactly," Fenton said, though he paused a second or two before he spoke as if he was considering giving a different response. Then he frowned and added vaguely, "I just don't like having tricks played on me. Have you made any progress on the case, Miss Drew?"

"The murder, no," Nancy told him. "As for the robberies, there's been a lot of progress this morning."

In low tones since it felt awkward to tell the story with Dirk sitting right there, Nancy told Fenton everything that had happened that morning.

Fenton seemed impressed. "It sounds like you don't need any help solving this mystery, Miss Drew."

"I don't know about that," Nancy replied modestly. "Surely you and your boys still intend to help?"

Fenton sighed. "I guess so," was his rather surprising response. "I was thinking this morning that maybe we should just go home, but I know we can't." He sat back in his chair with a grim expression.

Nancy, Bess, and George glanced at one another. They knew that whatever was bothering Fenton was probably none of their business, but it was almost painful to have to sit and wonder about it. Fortunately, it wasn't long before they had a distraction in the form of Carson Drew entering the sheriff's office.

Nancy jumped to her feet. "Dad! When did you get into town?"

Fenton, Bess, and George all also stood respectfully.

"Just now," Carson said. "I rode in with Dave Gregory and Juan Hernandez and Walt Sanders, but they're going on to the Regor house. Dave told me a little bit about what's been happening this morning."

"It hasn't exactly been quiet," George interjected.

"It never is," Carson replied with a shadow of a smile. "Where's Sheriff Humber? I was hoping to talk to him."

"He's over at the undertaker's with my cousin," Fenton told him. "Speaking of whom, I'd like to show you what my investigations have shown about that land dispute. If Ruth insists on taking this case to court, it should help you. I think she's going to drop the case, though."

"Oh?" Carson asked. "Why? And why would you want to help me win the case against your cousin?"

Fenton frowned in annoyance. "The short version of the story is that she's known all along that she doesn't have a claim. The truth is that I'm none too impressed with her right now after what she told me on the way here."

Much to Nancy's frustration, further discussion of the subject was cut short when the door was thrown open and the telegraph operator rushed in. He was practically hopping with excitement. "Where'd the sheriff get to? I've got a very important telegram for him right here." Fenton explained, and the operator went on, "I better run this telegram right down to him. He'll want to see it right away. It's from that lawyer he wired to come and prosecute this here fellow. He says that since the circuit judge is going to be able to come round day after tomorrow, to get a courtroom all rigged up to try him for murder and robbery and all that. This Valentine fellow, not the judge, of course."

That announcement finally elicited a reaction from Dirk. He leaped to his feet. "Murder? I didn't kill anybody!"

The telegraph man shrugged. "I reckon a lawyer would know more about that than me. If he thinks you done it, he must know what he's talking about." He ducked out again before anyone could respond.

Dirk rattled the bars of door to his cell before he gave up in disgust. "Of all the lame-brain, foolhardy, sons of a…" His fury seemed to choke him and he couldn't go on.

"Two days is much too fast to put together a court case," Carson observed. "That prosecutor might as well not bother unless he has an eye witness or something."

"If he does, he's lying." Dirk spat on the floor.

George raised an eyebrow in disgust. "Is that your response to every time someone says something that you can't explain?  
"In this case, it's true," Dirk said between gritted teeth. "I didn't kill anyone. I swear it. Whatever else I may or may not have done, I've never hurt anyone. Mr. Drew, I understand you're a lawyer. Maybe you don't think much of me, but there's not another lawyer in this territory who'll give me a fair shake. I don't expect this so-called trial to be anything more than a show, but it's not in my nature not to give it up without a fight. Would you represent me?"

Carson hesitated. "I'm sure there are honest lawyers around here. They'd be able to do more for you than I can. My involvement could be seen as a conflict of interest in this case."

"I'd rather be represented by the town drunk than what passes for lawyers around here," Dirk maintained. "At least he wouldn't throw the trial on purpose."

Carson seemed unimpressed. "I'm afraid I can't. I'm sorry."

Dirk raised his chin proudly. "Well, I don't beg anything of any man, so I reckon that's that." Now that he had mastered himself again, he sat down and sank once more into stoic silence.

NDNDNDNDND

"Now, there must be some clues around here somewhere." Frank dismounted from his horse and looked around him. He and Joe had ridden up Shadow Mountain and they were now in the midst of the cliff houses.

"We could cover more ground if we split up," Joe pointed out.

Frank nodded. "True. Why don't you go up above and I look down below?"

There were three levels of cliff houses, though the middle one was easiest to reach and the houses there were larger and more plentiful and looked as if they may have been lived in more recently, though it was still clearly centuries since anyone had called any part of this place home. Both Frank and Joe had to leave their horses behind to climb the steep trails up or down.

When Frank reached the lowest level, he found that it was barely more than an outcropping of rock out of the side of the cliff. He practically had to cling to the side of the rock to keep from falling over. Once his foot slipped and he had visions of plunging down two hundred feet to be battered to pieces on the rocks below. He drew a deep breath and murmured a grateful prayer as he caught and steadied himself.

He glanced down below at his narrow escape and immediately saw that he wasn't the first to have lost his footing in this treacherous place. It was the body of a person that way lying at the base of the cliff, though; it was the body of a horse. It wasn't twisted and broken as would have been expected of a horse that had fallen to its death from up here, at least it didn't look that way to Frank. It looked as if it was simply lying peacefully on its side, as peacefully as if it had died in its sleep.

Then there was the problem of how a horse could have gotten here in the first place. The ledge was much too narrow for anything as large as a horse to walk along it. Frank glanced up and saw that there was nothing but sheer cliff above him. There must be another way down into the little valley below, Frank realized, though where it was and how the horse had found it and why it had died all remained mysteries.

As Frank was thinking about it, he heard a shot from somewhere up above. Both he and Joe were carrying guns against the chance of meeting a rattlesnake or other dangerous animal, but at the moment, Frank's thoughts immediately jumped to human dangers. He began hurrying back as quickly as he could, hoping Joe hadn't gotten himself into trouble.

Meanwhile, Joe had climbed to the highest level of cliff houses. It was a rough, steep climb, and even though he was in good shape, he had to pause for breath at the top. He could see for miles across the desert from up here. In fact, he could even make out Shadow Ranch to his right and Crowhead to his left. However, he didn't have much time to enjoy the scenery. A shot shattered the stillness, and Joe saw a puff of dust as a bullet hit the ground near his feet. For a wild moment, he glanced all around him to see if he could catch sight of the shooter, but then he realized that it was more urgent to get under cover. He made a dive for the shelter of one of the crumbling, ancient houses.

There was a shout from up above, but Joe couldn't make out the words. He cautiously raised his head just enough to see over the half-fallen wall. Two men were on the slope above him, making their way toward him with their hands held out in front of them.

"There's been a mistake!" one of them shouted. "Don't shoot!"

Joe recognized him as Pop Hamilton, whom he had met a couple of times before. Slowly and uncertainly, he stepped out to meet them, but he let them come to him rather than approaching them.

"My apologies," Pop said as he hurried closer, though Joe felt that he didn't look particularly apologetic. "We mistook you for someone else."

"Well, I'm certainly glad I'm not whoever you thought I was," Joe replied. "Who did you think I was?"

Pop looked as if he was about to say, "Nobody," or some other such unhelpful and untrue answer. Then he seemed to think better of it and instead said unwillingly, "Truth be told, we were a little afraid you were a horse thief. See, one of my best horses, a palomino named Major, disappeared last night. That's what we're doing up here: looking for him."

Joe sensed there was something more to the story, but he didn't say so aloud. Instead, he said, "Shooting before you give a fellow the chance to speak up for himself might not be the best way to look for a horse thief. Say, isn't that a little strange that this is the second horse you've had go missing in a week?"

"Not really." Pop had narrowed his eyes. "I own over five hundred horses. It's only natural that some would go missing now and then."

"Oh, so it doesn't bother you then," Joe said a little airily. "But I take it the one that's missing now is something special, since you're bothering to look for him."

"That's right," Pop said. "You haven't seen a palomino roaming around here, have you?"

Joe shook his head. "No, I haven't. Before you go looking again, though, my brother is around here somewhere, so maybe try asking people to identify themselves before you shoot them."

"You're not sore about that, are you?" Pop's companion asked.

"Oh no," Joe replied. "I get mistaken for a horse thief and nearly shot all the time. It's nothing."

"All right! You can consider the lesson learned, Master Hardy," Pop burst out. "We humble Westerners bow before your unparalleled Eastern wisdom. No doubt, you have everything so well figured out that mistakes like this never happen over there, and the only reason such things happen here is because we're a bunch of savages who don't want to be civilized. None of you have ever stopped to consider that things might just be different around here."

Joe folded his arms and said not entirely truthfully, "I was going to tell you to forget the whole thing, but I'm not going to now."

The other man stepped forward. "Hey, boss, it's all right. The kid's got every right to be sore. No sense all of us blowing our tops. The name's Range Cooper, by the way. I take it you're one of Miz Hardy's nephews?"

"Cousins," Joe corrected him, more for the sake of correcting him than because he cared that this Range Cooper had his facts completely straight.

"Well, either way, I'm mighty sorry," Range said. "We're having a big get-together tomorrow night at the ranch. Why don't you and your brother and whoever else you want come on down? There'll be singing and dancing and food. Might help smooth over this little misunderstanding."

"We'll see." Ordinarily, Joe would have disdainfully refused the invitation without a moment's thought, be he realized that the invitation could be used for sleuthing purposes, especially since Pop Hamilton had just risen exponentially on the suspect list. Even so, he couldn't help making one last sarcastic remark: "That is, if your boss doesn't mind having an Easterner like me there."

Pop seemed to have to take a moment to compose himself. "No. You're welcome to come, if you want. Well, if Major isn't down here, there's not much point staying here. Come on, Range."

The two of them were just disappearing from view when Frank arrived, panting a little from his hasty climb.

"I heard a shot. What happened?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Joe replied. "Whatever it was, it started with me almost getting murdered and ended with me getting invited to a party at the home of our top suspect." He then described the encounter.

"I don't know that that makes Pop Hamilton quite our top suspect, but I agree that he looks pretty suspicious and that this will be a great chance to investigate him." Frank shook his head. "It's getting to the point where the only people besides us and Dad that we can safely cross off the suspect list are Nancy and her father, and that's only because they weren't here when the murder happened."

"Speaking of Nancy," Joe said, "it will look a lot less suspicious if we go to this dance with a couple of girls."

"Mm-hmm." Frank folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well, they probably would like to come. The only troubles is that Nancy has two friends, don't forget."

"Oh, well, that's no problem." Joe grinned. "One of them can go with Hernandez."

Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose in good-natured annoyance. "I think it would be best if everyone thought we were simply going for a good time so we can leave Deputy Hernandez behind. We can worry about those details later, though. For now, we've got some rock-climbing to do."

NDNDNDNDND

Nancy was deep in thought as she rode back to the ranch with her father, Bess, and George. Her thoughts strayed from wondering where Frances had gone to wondering what Fenton Hardy had been so uptight about and what he had meant when he had said that his cousin didn't have a claim to the disputed land after all to hoping that Frank and Joe had also made some progress on the case to reflecting on the fact that Ruth Hardy had identified the murder victim as Chris Mason, but most often she found herself hoping that Ned would be all right, which she usually followed up by trying to put together some plans for how to capture the last two members of Dirk Valentine's gang.

"I don't quite understand," Bess said finally. "I've thought and thought about it, but I just can't see anything that connects Dirk Valentine to the murder except that he possibly has been hiding out near the place where it happened."

"Maybe Mason stumbled on Valentine up there, so Valentine killed him," George suggested. "There isn't a shred of evidence for it, though, so I really don't see what that prosecutor thinks he's doing."

"I'm sure it's a mistake," Carson said. "Telegrams can be confusing, and Humber was understandably upset when he wrote it. I'm sure once the prosecutor gets to town, we can set him straight on his facts. We'll need to get the trial delayed, though, so we can figure out what Valentine really has done."

"There's not going to be much chance of that," George told him. "The circuit judge only comes around every two months. The trial will either have to be now or two months from now."

Carson frowned. "That's no way to run a justice system. I'll have to make some inquiries to find out whether that's really the case."

"Dad, I thought you weren't representing Valentine," Nancy reminded him.

"No, I'm not," Carson admitted, "but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in the case and the odd ideas they have about justice out here."

Nancy had to smile. She loved it when she got to work on a case with her father. It was good to have Bess and George helping again, too. It almost made her hope that it would take a long time to solve this case. But, no, whether the murder and the robberies had all been committed by the same people or not, it seemed evident that they were tied up with one another somehow, and between them, there had already been three people hurt or killed. This mystery had to be solved as soon as possible.

NDNDNDNDND

Finding a path down to the small valley where the body of the horse lay wasn't as difficult as Frank had feared. In fact, now that the Hardys knew that one had to be there, it only took a matter of minutes before they found one that was half-hidden, though whether it was partially hidden by the design of man or of nature was more than they could say. They scrambled down the trail and examined the horse. One of its legs had been broken, after all, but the cause of death was a bullet to the head. It was definitely not Pop Hamilton's palomino that he had been looking for, as this horse was a sorrel. For that matter, it didn't appear to be one of Pop's horses at all, since it didn't have a brand on its left hip.* It was still wearing a saddle and bridle, but neither of those gave any clue as to who might have owned it.

Frank and Joe spent the rest of the day carefully searching the area, but they found no other signs that anyone had even been here recently. Disappointed that they hadn't made any more definite progress, they rode back to Crowhead Ranch and arrived just as it was getting dark.

As soon as they were inside the house, Fenton and Ruth met them, and Fenton said, "Boys, we need to talk."

Frank and Joe exchanged glances, and Joe asked, "What did we do, Dad?"

"You two didn't do anything." Fenton glanced significantly at Ruth.

Ruth rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to make any apologies for anything. Maybe I was a little underhanded about how I went about it, but it was for the boys' good. It's their decision, anyway."

"Our decision about what?" Frank cast an uncertain glance to his father and then his brother. "What's going on?"

"I think Ruth had better explain," Fenton said.

Ruth smoothed back her hair, but she seemed composed enough as she told her side of the story. "This dispute with Meryl Humber has gotten way out of hand, I realize. I never meant it to go so far that he would call in a lawyer from back East and everything. When the whole thing came up, it just seemed like a good opportunity to get the three of you to come out here"

"So you were suing someone just to trick us into visiting you?" Joe asked, understandably confused.

Ruth smiled ruefully. "I've been writing to your father to try to convince him to bring you out here for over a year now, but you're all always so busy that I reckon you can't spend the time to come out here just for a regular visit. I thought maybe if you thought I needed help, you would actually come this time. You can't blame me for being a little desperate."

"That depends on why exactly you were so desperate to have us come out here," Frank replied.

"That's fair enough," Ruth said. She paused a moment as if she was trying to decide the best way to say this. "I have an offer to make you boys, or one of you, at least. My husband and I never had any children, you know, and I'm starting to get a little older. As much as I hate to admit it, I could use some help."

Frank caught his breath for a moment. He could see where this was going. "Cousin Ruth," he started to say.

"Let me finish, let me finish," Ruth interrupted. "I'd like very much for this ranch to stay in the family, and you're the closest relatives I have. I intend to leave the ranch to whichever one of you would like to have it when I'm gone, and I would like it even better if he would stay here and start learning the work."

Frank took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That's a very generous offer, Cousin Ruth."

Joe took up the slack when he paused. "But we couldn't take it. We're detectives, not ranchers. We wouldn't know the first thing about it."

"Which is why one of you would stay here and learn," Ruth said.

"Just one of us?" Joe repeated.

"You couldn't both possibly stay," Ruth told him. "Your folks will need one of you, I'm sure, but it's not like you're a couple of those Siamese twins. It won't kill you to be separated. You've got to learn to stand on your own and not have to depend on anyone."

"I don't think the boys are old enough to make that kind of decision for themselves," Fenton spoke up.

"And I say they are," Ruth insisted. "You coddle a boy by telling him he's too young to make his own decisions and he never does get grown up enough for it."

"It's easy enough to settle," Joe broke in. "I guess I'm not supposed to speak for Frank, but I know I'm going to go back to Bayport once this case is solved."

"What about you, Frank?" Ruth asked.

"It's not that we're not grateful for the offer, Cousin Ruth," Frank replied, "but it's just not for us."

"You could think about it a little, at least," Ruth said. "It's not everyone who gets a chance like this. There's no rush to make any decisions. Wait until you have this mystery solved and then decide."

"We'll think about it," Frank conceded, "but we won't make any promises."

*When brands are registered, they are registered both for the design and the area of the animal where they are placed, so even if the horse had the same design brand as Pop Hamilton's, if it was anywhere but the left hip, it would belong to someone else.


	9. Chapter VIII

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you so much for continuing to read and for your patience between chapters! Thank you to everyone who has favorited or followed this story – it's always great to know that you guys are liking it! A special thank you to the reviewers on the last chapter: angelicalkiss, Rose12, Drumboy100, and Cherylann Rivers! Hopefully the party isn't a let-down. It was terribly fun to write, hence the length of this chapter which I felt I probably should cut down. However, there is a little more of the party (mostly the one really important conversation that I skipped over here) in the next chapter, so stay tuned for that!_

**Chapter VIII**

Bess was holding a long dress in front of her as she stood in the doorway of Nancy's room the next afternoon. "What do you think of this one?"

"I think if you just didn't have so many dresses, you wouldn't have such a hard time deciding which one to wear," George replied. She was sitting on Nancy's bed, while Nancy was at the vanity arranging her hair. The Hardys had stopped by earlier that day and told them about the party at the Hamilton Ranch, and the girls were all eager to go. They had decided that, to keep up appearances, Nancy and Frank would go together, and Bess and Joe, and George would go with Dave Gregory, since he was already involved in their sleuthing.

Bess cocked her head to one side to give George an annoyed look. "Don't you want to look your best for going on a date with a handsome man like Mr. Gregory?"

"We're going to investigate," George reminded her, though she wasn't quite able to make eye contact, "not for romance. Thank goodness. I've had enough of romance to last a lifetime."

Bess giggled. "You can tell yourself that, George."

Nancy smiled, but she thought that it was time to intervene. "We need everyone to think we're there just for the dance, so we should all be looking our best."

"Oh, well. There's no winning, is there?" George stood up and went to her own room to get ready, but she didn't seem to mind all that much.

"She's hopeless, isn't she, Nancy?" Bess asked.

Nancy was trying to think of an appropriate response when she happened to glance out the window and see what looked like a confrontation between Frances and the sheriff. They were too far away for Nancy to hear what they were saying, especially since the sound was muffled by the glass. Even so, Nancy stopped to watch. Bess noticed, and she, too, stood at the window to watch.

Frances was stamping her feet and angrily pointing. Every now and again, she would throw her hands in the air and pace a few steps. It was evident that she was doing most of the talking or, more likely, shouting. Humber was standing with his back to the window and his arms crossed and was standing as still as a fence post.

"Poor Frances," Bess observed, shaking her head. "It's too bad she couldn't have fallen in love with a law-abiding citizen."

"When you wrote to me before, you mentioned that Frances didn't get along with her father even then," Nancy said. "Has it been that way as long as you've known them?"

Bess nodded. "If you ask me, I think it's been this way for years. Wounds don't cut that deep overnight."

"I wonder just how much Frances knew about Dirk when she first met him," Nancy mused. "Do you think it's possible that she knew he was an outlaw and only started seeing him to hurt her father? Or maybe more to defy him?"

Bess considered the possibility. "I don't think even Frances could be that vindictive. I think she really does care about Dirk, and I think she would be happy if he wasn't an outlaw. That's why she's trying so hard to convince everyone that Dirk is some kind of Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood was technically stealing money back that had been unfairly taken by the government and giving it back to the rightful owners," Nancy pointed out. "Stealing from the bank or the stagecoach or the passengers on the stagecoach is definitely not the same thing, no matter how rich those might be."

"It's still no excuse for charging him for murder when there's no evidence," Bess said. "Even if he was in with the men who tried to kill Uncle Ross." She slapped her forehead. "I almost forgot about Alice! Do you think we should invite her to come with us tonight? She could use something to take her mind off everything, and besides it wouldn't be very nice of us to just leave her here when everyone is so tense."

"Well…" Nancy hesitated. Most likely, nothing would go wrong at the party and they would just have more fun than they would find answers. On the other hand, there was a possibility that there would be some danger, and she didn't want the younger girl to be caught in the middle of it. "All right," she said finally. "I don't think we should tell her the real reason we're going, though. We wouldn't want her to accidentally give anything away."

"Right," Bess said, fathering up the skirt of the dress she was holding. "I'll go tell her about the party."

After Bess had gone, Nancy turned to the window again. Frances had her hands clasped in front of her, as if she was begging or praying. Nancy wished that she could see Humber's face and get some idea of what he was thinking or feeling.

There was a knock on Nancy's door and she asked who was there.

"Just me," Carson's voice replied.

Nancy opened the door and let him in. "Dad, you're back from town already."

"That's right," Carson said. "I rode back with the sheriff. I need some advice, Nancy."

"From me?"

Carson sat down on the bed and gestured for Nancy to sit next to him. "You usually give pretty good advice. The prosecutor got into town today. I tried to talk to him. Even Humber tried to talk to him. He just wouldn't listen. He's going to go ahead and prosecute Valentine for murder. Worse still, he's strutting around like the case is already won, which I'm afraid it might as well be. No one's even gotten a lawyer for Valentine yet. This prosecutor says he'll get to it tomorrow, which is the day of the trial, you know."

"And you're trying to decide whether you should represent Valentine after all," Nancy deduced.

Carson sighed. "I don't want to. There's nothing in me that wants to, because there's no possible way to get to a fair solution if I do. Either the trial will be rigged against Valentine, in which case it won't matter what I say or do, or it will be an actual fair trial and I'll get Valentine off and he'll be untouchable for any of the crimes he's being tried for because of double jeopardy laws."

"But if you don't represent him, he'll definitely be hung for a crime he may or may not have committed and we may never know the truth about it," Nancy said.

"Not to mention that it will continue a precedent for a mockery of a justice system that will likely cause men more innocent than Valentine to be hung or jailed in the future," Carson continued.

"Couldn't Valentine be convicted of robbery but not the murder?" Nancy asked.

"If it turns out to be a fair trial, then yes," Carson said, "but if I represent him, it's my duty to get him out of all the charges if the prosecutor doesn't have everything in order, which he doesn't. Even with your testimony, there's room for reasonable doubt."

"My testimony," Nancy repeated. "I wasn't even thinking of it that I would have to testify."

"That's another problem with this whole trial," Carson went on. "Those two men who attacked Ned Nickerson will not only know exactly what your name is, but they'll also know that you're swearing to the truth of your descriptions rather than retracting them. If it wasn't a blatant obstruction of justice, I'd tell you to keep out of sight before this lawyer can serve you with a _sub poena_." He murmured under his breath, "If he's ever even heard of a _sub poena_."

"Dad, it's all right," Nancy told him. "I'm not afraid of those people. I can always take Hernandez with me wherever I go." She grinned, but Carson didn't do likewise. Nancy thought it might be best to change the subject. "How is Mr. Nickerson? Did you inquire about him at all?"

"He's recovering just fine," Carson said. "The broken ribs will keep him laid up for a while still, but his head injury doesn't seem to be causing him any more grief. He and his parents don't think there's any danger from those outlaws coming back, and so they're going to take him home after the trial."

Nancy nodded, but she couldn't help a little feeling of disappointment that Ned wouldn't be staying at Shadow Ranch after all. There would be fewer chances to ask him about the attack this way, and being a newspaper man, he might have some good insights into the case.

NDNDNDNDND

Frank and Joe arrived right on schedule. Joe was in high spirits, but Nancy thought she could detect an air of preoccupation in Frank. There wasn't time to talk about it, though. Dave had the buckboard that they had used for going to church on Sunday all ready, and the whole group piled into it. Though Alice was unaccompanied, she was thrilled about the dance, which, as she confessed to Bess, would be the first one she had ever gone to.

When they arrived at the Hamilton Ranch, the party seemed to already be in full swing. There was a large crowd gathered, and so the group was able to enter mostly unnoticed. For a moment, Alice stood on the sideline, watching the dancers as if she was transfixed.

"Maybe we should get some punch first of all," Bess suggested, thinking that they shouldn't leave Alice on her own until she felt more comfortable.

"I'll get it for you," Joe offered, and Frank and Dave went with him to the punch table.

"I feel a little silly asking this," Alice whispered just loud enough for the other three girls to hear, "but what do you do at a party like this?"

"Mostly wish you could go home," George told her.

Bess elbowed her. "You do not. You talk and have cake and try to find some handsome man to ask you to dance."

Alice looked around the room. "Oh, but they're all grown up like you. I don't see any boys my age here."

"There's bound to be a few," Bess told her. "Don't worry. We'll find some for you."

"Just one would be enough," Alice said.

By this time, the boys had returned with the punch. Joe had brought an extra cup for Alice. They chatted together for a few minutes about things of no particular importance. Then Range Cooper approached the group.

"Hello, there, Hardy," he greeted them. "I see you decided to come join the festivities after all."

"I had nothing better to do this evening," Joe replied. Then he introduced the rest of the group.

Range greeted each of them in turn, but his eyes rested especially long on George. "Would you care to dance, Miss Fayne?" he asked as soon as the introductions were over.

"I believe Miss Fayne promised me the first dance," Dave spoke up.

"Well, I…" George began to say, but Dave was already leading her to the dance floor.

Range turned to Nancy and Bess. "Would either of you ladies care to dance?"

"Yes, I would," Nancy asked. If Range and Pop Hamilton were really involved in any of the mysterious goings-on, then it would be a good opportunity for sleuthing to make his acquaintance. For a moment, Nancy wondered if perhaps Pop and Range were the other two outlaws, but she rejected this idea. While Pop could possibly pass for one of them, Range was a good deal too young and completely the wrong build to be either.

As the two of them went to the dance floor together, Joe nudged Frank with his elbow. "That's fast for even you to get jilted at a dance."

Before Frank could retort, Bess spoke up, "I'm sure it's nothing personal, Frank." She couldn't explain Nancy's reasoning in front of Alice, but she was sure Frank and Joe would be able to guess it if they thought it through. "Why don't you dance with Alice, Frank, and then Joe and I can dance together. And don't worry, Alice; I'm keeping an eye out for a handsome boy for you."

Joe escorted Bess to the dance floor, and Frank accordingly turned to Alice. "Would you care to dance?" he asked.

Alice blushed a deep red. "I would, but…This is so embarrassing. I've never been to a dance before, and I don't actually know how to dance."

"That's all right," Frank assured. "I can show you. That way you'll be ready for when Bess finds you a fellow."

"I hope she doesn't," Alice said. "I'll be so embarrassed. I won't be able to say a word to him. George was right. You do spend most of a party like this wishing you could go home."

Frank laughed. "Why don't you give the party a chance before you make up your mind about that?"

He finally persuaded Alice to let him teach her to dance. Meanwhile, Nancy's conversation with Range wasn't going as she had hoped. She started by talking about nothing of consequence, which was her first mistake.

"So," she asked, "how did you end up with a name like Range?"

"Aw, well, that's just a nickname, really," Range told her. "My parents called me Wilfred, and so of course I couldn't go through life using a name like that. Your friend has an interesting name, too. I never met a girl named George before."

"It's short for Georgia," Nancy said, "but don't tell her I told you. You might not like your name, but I'm sure she hates hers more."

"I think it's a pretty name," Range replied. "I'm going to tell her so."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Nancy warned him. "She might try to shoot you, like you did to Joe yesterday, only she won't miss."

Range didn't take the bait to start talking about the incident the day before. "Well, if she really hates it that much, George is fine by me. Of course, when I talk to her, I'll call her Miss Fayne."

"Oh, of course." Nancy tried to conceal her disappointment. "Say, what were you doing up on Shadow Mountain yesterday?"

"Just looking for a lost horse," Range told her. "We never did find it. Does Miss Fayne like to ride? Maybe I could ask her if she wants to come riding and look for ol' Major some more."

Just then, the song ended and all the dancers stopped and applauded.

"Thank you for that dance, Miss Drew," Range said. "It was a lot of fun."

"I've never had so much fun," Nancy replied, doing an admirable job of disguising the fact that she hadn't enjoyed a moment of it.

If Range noticed or not, he didn't show it. He promptly hurried off.

"You're a mighty fine dancer, Miss Fayne," Dave was saying at the same moment.

"Thank you," George replied a little stiffly, and then she remembered to add, "So are you." She was feeling rather warm and flustered.

"Would you care for the next dance?" Range asked as he came up behind her and bowed.

"Um, all right," George said almost automatically. Before she had quite realized that she had agreed to dance with him, Range was whirling her out onto the dance floor again as the next song started.

At the same time, Frank was asking Alice if she would like to have another dancing lesson, but she shook her head, embarrassed about how many times she had stepped on Frank's feet in the brief first lesson.

"I think I'll go sit down for a little while," she said.

Frank looked around and spotted Nancy without a partner. He approached her and asked her for the next dance, which Nancy readily accepted.

"Did you learn anything?" Frank asked.

Nancy sighed. "No. The only thing he wanted to talk about was George. I've never seen anyone so smitten so fast. Well, except for Bess now and then."

Frank chuckled. "Your friends must be a handful sometimes."

"Not really," Nancy replied. "They're both as true as steel and have never let me down. They're also a lot smarter than they give themselves credit for. I would have never solved some of the cases I've handled without them. I hope they both have fun tonight, even if it means they're too busy to help us. They've been through a lot. My mother died when I was three. I remember how terrible was, but I still had my dad and I wasn't really old enough to understand what was going on. I can't imagine losing my dad, too."

"No, I can't imagine losing my parents, either." Frank fell silent after that and seemed to be lost in thought.

At the same time, as Bess and Joe were dancing, Bess was continually scanning the sidelines until Joe finally teased her, "Hey, you'd think I wasn't anything much to look at."

"Sorry," Bess said. "I'm keeping an eye out for a fellow for Alice. I'm starting to be afraid that she was right that there are no boys her age here."

"I know when I was her age, I wouldn't be caught dead coming to a dance unless my parents forced me," Joe commented.

"Say!" Bess caught her breath. "Look at him."

"Who?" Joe turned his head, but he didn't see any younger boys.

"That man in the green jacket who's dancing with the blonde girl," Bess said.

Joe spotted the couple. "No, he wouldn't do. He must be twenty at least."

"But isn't he the most gorgeous man you've ever seen?" Bess seemed to be unable to take her eyes off him.

Joe made a face. "I don't care about anything like that."

"I'd love to meet him," Bess went on. Her eyes sparkled as she had a sudden idea. "Joe, could you try to cut in on him? Then when he sees that I don't have anyone to dance with and he doesn't have anyone to dance with, he'll ask me."

"And maybe he won't," Joe countered. He was feeling just the slightest bit offended that Bess was clearly more interested in this stranger than in him.

"Please, Joe," Bess insisted. "It's worth a try, at least, isn't it?"

"Oh, fine," Joe gave in with a sigh that he disguised as an annoyed huff. He stopped dancing and went to the man whom Bess had pointed out and tapped him on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?"

"Oh, well, not if you don't mind," the man said to his partner.

She looked as if she minded very much, but she muttered, "All right."

Much to Bess's delight, the man spotted her and asked her if she would like to dance. Within moments, he was whirling her around the dance floor in time with the lively music. He introduced himself as Chuck Chase and said that he worked for Pop Hamilton.

Joe, meanwhile, was having a much less agreeable time. His new partner was several years older than him, he judged, and seemed to be completely bored with him. When that song ended shortly after, she walked away without even saying a word. Joe shrugged and went to see what might be found at the desert table.

Dave claimed George for his partner for the next dance, but it had barely begun before Range cut in. Dave waited what felt like an appropriate amount of time and then he cut in himself. This sparked off a passive battle where the boys would cut in on each other every couple of minutes.

There was a part of George that was rather enjoying the attention. Most of the boys she had known back in River Heights had been acquainted with her since she was a little girl, and she had been such a tomboy back then that none of the boys had ever taken much interest in her as a girl, though she had been popular enough for fishing or climbing or anything of that sort. It was rather a nice surprise to not only have two different men expressing an interest in her but actually vying for her attention.

However, the practical part of George was beginning to grow a little tired of the game. She had been claimed by one or the other of them for every dance so far, and her feet were becoming sore. Besides that, the logical part of her mind kept telling her that while having two men trying to get her attention was flattering, it could only ultimately lead to trouble.

Finally, a dance ended while Dave was her partner. George asked him if he wouldn't mind sitting the next one out.

"Not at all," Dave assured her. Then he frowned as he caught sight of Range making his way toward them. "Here comes that pest again. It's so warm in here, why don't we step outside for a few minutes?"

George's heart nearly stopped. She had never had a young man ask her to go outside with him during a dance before, and she wasn't at all sure if she should agree. However, before she could think of any reason why not, she found herself saying, "Yes. I'd like that. It's much too hot in here."

They happened to be near a door, and they slipped out quietly so that probably no one, except for Range, noticed them going. The sun had long-since set, and it was dark and cool outdoors. After the heat inside, George shivered.

"You're not too cold, are you?" Dave asked.

"No," George assured him. "It's nice out here. I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to this desert heat."

"A party like that would be hot anywhere," Dave said. "But I have to say, I'm starting to miss snow and rain and cool days myself."

"Snow?" George repeated teasingly. "I don't know that I even remember what that is." She chuckled. "We used to get a lot of snow in River Heights. You said you were from Montana? There must be a lot of snow there."

"Mm-hmm. I think I miss the mountains even more than the weather, though. What passes for mountains here would barely be a hill up in Montana."

"You're not thinking of going back, are you?" George asked. She found herself not liking the idea at all.

"Oh, no, I don't think. Not any time soon, anyhow," Dave replied. "Mr. Humber's a good, fair boss. More than fair, to be honest, and so I think I'll stick around." He paused, and then he asked, "How would you like to walk around a little while?"

"That would be nice," George said, trying to play down just how nice it would be. "What would be even better, though, is if we could find someplace to sit. My feet feel like they're about to fall off."

"We could manage something, I reckon," Dave said.

They began to walk in silence. Pop Hamilton had a bit of a garden, and they found a bench in it which they sat on. They suddenly both felt a little awkward and couldn't think of anything to say. As George's mind jumped around from one possible topic to another, the day when Dave had stumbled on her crying in the loft of the stable flashed into her memory. It was immediately followed up by the memory of how she had practically accused him of telling everyone on the ranch about the incident. She felt her cheeks burn, and she was glad that it was dark so that Dave couldn't see how much she was blushing.

"I owe you an apology," she blurted out finally.

"Me? What for?" Dave asked.

"Oh, you know, yesterday morning, when I thought that you told everyone…" George stopped. She hoped she had said enough for Dave to understand what she was talking about.

"I thought you already apologized for that," Dave said.

"I don't remember doing that." George blinked in confusion.

Dave shrugged. "It doesn't matter much whether you did, I guess. It wasn't such a big thing. I'd just about forgotten."

"Well, it wasn't fair of me and I'm sorry," George said. She closed her eyes. "I suppose you think I'm a complete, helpless idiot over the whole thing. Acting like a baby…" She trailed off.

"No, I don't think that at all," Dave assured her. "I know what it's like to lose your folks and then have to leave home because of it."

"You…do?"

Dave nodded and looked out into the darkness. "My parents died a few years back. I have a younger brother and sister. They're staying with an aunt and uncle back in Montana. I needed a job, though, so I could send them money to help take care of them. My aunt and uncle have their own children and they don't have a lot of money themselves, so the best I could do was to help out that way."

"Surely you didn't have to come all the way out to Arizona to find a job?" George asked.

"No. I guess not." Dave shook his head. "I don't know why I left Montana. Maybe I just felt like I couldn't stay."

George's mind drifted back to River Heights, and for the first time, she realized how different and haunting it would be without her parents there. She felt tears well in her eyes.

"Does it ever get any easier?" she asked.

"In a way, it does," Dave said, "but I still miss them terribly. I expect I always will."

George felt the tears begin to run down her cheeks. "Not now," she mumbled as she tried to wipe them away.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about in crying," Dave told her. "There'd be more shame in not crying over your family."

George shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut to try to keep any more tears from escaping. "I…can't…I can't be weak…I'd disappoint them."

"It's not weak to cry over something like this," Dave said. "Crying over a scraped knee would be, but this isn't a scraped knee."

"But I have to be able to make it on my own," George insisted.

"No, you don't," Dave said. "You don't have to prove anything to anybody, George. I wish I'd had someone to tell me that a few years ago."

George put her face in her hands as more tears came. Dave put his arm around her shoulders. George barely even noticed as she leaned her head against his shoulder and cried into it while he held her.

At the same time, Bess was having a much more animated conversation with Chuck Chase. They had stopped dancing and had found a place off to the sidelines of the dance to sit and eat some of the cake that was provided. Chuck was an eager talker, but he was no match for Bess, who was willingly telling him everything about herself.

"Your friend is a detective?" Chuck asked after Bess had mentioned that. "Is she any good at it?"

"The best," Bess assured him. "She's working on that murder case right now, and she caught that outlaw, Dirk Valentine."

"I thought they decided he was the murderer," Chuck said.

"Well, Nancy doesn't think so," Bess told him, "and she's almost always right about things like that. She and her father are worried that he's going to get convicted and hung for something he didn't, but we'll find the real murderer before it comes to that."

"It seems like awfully dangerous work for a lady," Chuck observed.

"It is, sometimes," Bess said. "Most of the time, it's just thinking things through, though. Nancy's always good about asking for help when she's going to do something dangerous. Well, not always, but usually…Well, some of the time. Mostly when George and I insist. Except George is almost as bad as she is, so mostly just when I insist."

Chuck laughed. "It's a good thing she came out here to visit you then. Is she planning on going back home as soon as she solves the mystery?"

"I hope not," Bess said.

"If she has the time, I have a mystery you girls could work on, too," Chuck went on. "See, Pop Hamilton has been losing horses right and left, and I'd sure like to get to the bottom of it."

"But I thought he'd only lost two horses: the one that the murdered was riding and the palomino he was looking for yesterday."

"No," Chuck told her. "He's lost at least a dozen or so in the last couple months. Some of them could have run off, I guess, but not all of them."

"Why doesn't Mr. Hamilton report it to the sheriff?" Bess asked. I know he hasn't, because I would have heard about it if he had."

"I couldn't say," Chuck told her. "If you and your friends have time, maybe we could all look into it together sometime."

Meanwhile, Joe had wandered outside on his own, lamenting about how this was the uncontested worst party he had ever been to. He hadn't found a single girl who would deign to talk to him. Granted, most of them seemed to have come to the dance escorted, but it still wasn't often that he had this terrible of luck at a party. He decided he might as well wander around outside and see if he could find anything pertinent to the mystery.

He made his way toward the stable first, since the Hamilton horses seemed to be somehow in the center of the case. He hadn't reached the stable, though, before he heard someone softly call his name. He turned to see Alice Regor behind him.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"I got bored of the party," Alice said. "Then I felt like everyone was staring at me and wondering why I was there since I'm so much younger than everyone else there and then I started wondering why I was there and…Are we going to go home soon?"

"That would be fine with me," Joe told her, "but probably not. Everyone else seems to be managing to have fun. Bess has some cowboy she's talking to, and first George and Dave snuck off somewhere, and then Nancy and Frank did. Who knows how long it'll be before they're ready to leave?"

Alice sighed. "I thought this would be fun. I don't know what I was really expecting. I don't even know how to dance. Your brother was trying to show me, but…" She sighed again. "Now I'm never going to be able to talk to him again."

"Why not?" Joe asked. "Even he couldn't have been _that_ bad of a teacher."

"No, no. He was fine. It was me that was the problem. I was so bad at it. I'm so embarrassed. I just want to go home and never have to see anyone again."

"Huh." Joe was at a loss for words at Alice's extremity of distress over what sounded like absolutely nothing to him. "Well, I've always known that Frank could be embarrassing, but I never thought it could be that bad. I'd offer to beat him up for you, but he could always beat me when we were kids."

"You fought each other when you were kids?" Alice asked.

"Just playing around," Joe told her. "The only real reason Frank could beat me was because he was bigger than me and older. And thought things through more."

"What difference does that make in a fight?" Alice asked.

Joe shrugged. "Thinking things through is important for everything. Knowing how to throw a punch isn't everything. You've also got to know when to throw it and where to aim and how it's going to land and whether the other guy is going to be able to block it or not."

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about that," Alice said. "I didn't even know there was a certain way you were supposed to punch someone."

"Sure there is," Joe told her. "You'll hurt yourself more than the fellow you're punching if you do it wrong."

"I don't know that it matters for me to know about that sort of thing."

"Everyone ought to know how to defend themselves," Joe said. "What would you do if someone attacked you?"

"Could you show me?" Alice requested.

"Sure. The first thing you need to know is that you should never have your thumb tucked inside your other fingers. You put it underneath your other fingers, like this." Joe demonstrated. "The next thing you have to remember is to keep your wrists lined up. Have your knuckles lined up with your arm, like so."

Alice held out her arm to copy Joe's demonstration. "Like this."

"That's not bad," Joe said. "Tilt your wrist down just a little, though. This way, when you punch the fellow, you'll hit him with your first two knuckles. If you hit him with your other knuckles or your fingers, you'll probably end up breaking your hand. You also need to aim for his body, not his face. There are too many bones in a fellow's face, and you'll probably yourself more than him, if you actually manage to hit him, which isn't that likely. If you hit him in a soft spot, you're more likely to hurt him and less likely to hurt yourself. Oh, and don't wind up your punches. That actually makes them weaker, and the guy you're trying to punch will have more time to see it coming."

"Wouldn't I have to knock him out so I could get away?" Alice asked.

"If you can," Joe replied. "It's pretty hard to knock someone out. Your best chance is to hurt him and distract him so either he'll give up or be so confused that he'll give you time to make a run for it. Chances are good that if a girl your age could punch a fellow like she knows what she's doing, he'd be pretty surprised and confused."

Just then, a horse whinnied shrilly in the stable. Joe and Alice turned just in time to see the dark outline of a man leading a horse out of the stable. He put his finger over his lips, as if he thought he could quiet the horse that way.

"That doesn't look right," Joe said. "Alice, you stay here. If anything happens, go get help." Then Joe charged forward. "What do you think you're doing?" he shouted at the man.

The man jumped and then clumsily began to climb onto the horse, which Joe could now see was wearing a saddle and bridle. Joe ran forward and he almost caught hold of the man's leg before he kicked the horse and rushed away. Joe spotted another horse that was tacked up and tied just inside the stable. Without pausing for a moment to think it over, he untied the horse, swung himself up, and galloped off in pursuit of the other rider.


	10. Chapter IX

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Well, here it is, the moment of truth: Why did Frank and Nancy slip off together during the party? However you feel about it, just remember that the story's not over yet and I think in the end you'll understand the choices that I have made here. We'll also see the first appearance of somebody whom we've all been waiting for a long time now. Anyway, thank you very much for reading! Thank you especially to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Rose12, Drumboy100, and angelicalkiss!_

**Chapter IX**

The fiddles were still playing, and couples were still dancing. Cake and punch were still being generously served out. The party was still in full swing, but Nancy was starting to grow a little weary of it. She liked dancing, and several young men had asked her, though Frank was undoubtedly the best dancer of the lot. Even so, she hadn't come just to socialize, and moreover, she hadn't seen Pop Hamilton once since she had arrived. That was more than a little strange, considering he was the host of the party.

She was standing on the sidelines of the dance floor, watching the various couples, particularly George and Dave, and sipping a glass of punch when Frank came and stood next to her.

"This is a nice dance, isn't it?" he said.

"Very nice," Nancy agreed. "And Bess and George both seem to be having a good time, which is one of the things I was hoping for, at least."

"But we haven't made much progress on the other thing," Frank added.

"It seems a little strange that Mr. Hamilton wouldn't be at his own party," Nancy said.

Frank nodded. "That's true. Maybe we should find him and make sure nothing's happened to him."

"That seems like a little bit of a weak excuse to go prowling about his house," Nancy pointed out.

"Well, then, people will just have to supply their own explanation for why we're 'prowling about his house'." Frank felt his cheeks grow warm at the idea of what people would most likely think.

It occurred to Nancy, as well, and she, too, blushed. "No one would think _that_, would they? Oh, but they would, especially after we came here together and have been dancing together. If they start talking and it gets back to my dad…"

"You've got a point there," Frank agreed, "but we've only got two options: look for clues and face the possibility of getting caught or go home without having learned anything."

"Well, when you put it that way, I can always explain things to my dad before the rumors even get to him," Nancy said. "Let's go."

She set her mostly empty glass on the table, and the two of them slipped through the nearest doorway. So far, so good. No one seemed to have noticed them leaving. Now they just needed to decide where to go.

The ranch house was laid out so that it had three stories: the main floor, an upper floor, and the basement. There was also probably an attic in the eaves of the roof, but Nancy and Frank didn't expect to have to look in there for their investigation. The room where the dance was being held took up nearly half the main floor and was the room that the main door led into. Two hallways led back away from it to the other rooms on the main floor, but the grand staircase was in that front room itself. Unless there was another back staircase, the detectives wouldn't have any chance of exploring upstairs.

Nancy and Frank had slipped into the left hallway. It was completely dark except at the end where a window let in the moonlight, but it was a long hallway all the same. Nancy and Frank started down it silently, pausing to listen at each door for any sound of voices.

The third door on the right (or the second to the last door on the right) had cracks of light around it. Nancy and Frank stood completely still outside it, even holding their breaths while they listened for any sound that would betray the presence of a person inside. There was no sound, but they both realized that that didn't mean the room was empty.

They listened for a long time, and then they heard a soft creak as someone stepped on a loose floorboard. It occurred to Nancy that they couldn't go inside to investigate as long as the person was inside there, and that if they waited for him to come out, they would certainly be caught. There was nowhere to hide, and if the person inside the room were to come out suddenly, there would be no excuse for them to make for being here alone except…no, she wasn't going to do anything like that.

Then she noticed again the window at the end of the hall. She motioned to Frank that they should make their way toward it. At first, he didn't seem to understand, but then he nodded and began edging his way toward it.

Fortunately, the hinges of the window were well-oiled, and so they made no noise as Frank pushed them open. He climbed out easily. There was only about a three-foot drop to the ground from the window. Then Nancy jumped down next to him, and he closed the window again. They both crouched so that only their eyes and foreheads were visible above the bottom of the window, just in case whoever was in that room came out and happened to glance at the window.

"I wonder how long we're going to have to wait," Nancy said quietly. There was no longer need for absolute silence, but they still both felt it would be wise not to talk louder than necessary.

"Could be a long time," Frank replied. He grinned. "You know, I haven't met very many girls who would want to spend a party like this."

"To be honest, I haven't met very many boys who would either," Nancy said. Then she cleared her throat. "I think there's something we need to talk about."

"Yeah." Frank bit his lip. "This is going to be uncomfortable, but if we happen to be thinking the same thing, it won't be so bad. If we end up disagreeing about it, we need to postpone arguing about it until later, when it's a little less important that we're not overheard."

"Right," Nancy agreed. "Maybe we should wait to talk it over until later."

"No, we're going to feel awkward around each other until we get this all sorted out," Frank said. "We might still feel awkward around each other, but maybe we won't. Anyway, Nancy, when I invited you to come along, I hope you didn't think that I was being sneaky about trying to find a way to trick you into spending an evening with me, because it wasn't like that at all. It's not that I don't like you, it's just that…"

"You don't like me _that_ way," Nancy finished for him.

"Yeah," Frank replied. "Er, well, no, not exactly. That makes it sound like it's something personal. It's not. It's just that I don't think I'm ready to feel _that_ way about anybody. I hope I haven't hurt your feelings."

"No," Nancy assured him. "It's more a relief than anything else. I don't have that kind of feelings for you either. I mean, I like you a lot, but more as a friend. I don't know. Do you think a man and a woman can be just friends and nothing more?"

"I've never understood why not," Frank said. "I think we could be just friends, but I don't think anyone will ever believe us."

Nancy let out a breath of relief. "I don't really care what anyone else thinks. Good friends who also happen to like mysteries are hard to find. I think I'm like you in this. I'm not ready to have that kind of feelings for anyone. I just want to go on solving mysteries for a while yet, without those sorts of things complicating everything."

Frank nodded a little wistfully. "I wish people would just let us all go on solving mysteries without making things so much harder."

Nancy gave him a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's pretty weird." Frank made a face. "It turns out that Cousin Ruth was only involved in the land dispute as a ruse to lure Joe and me out here."

"That sounds devious," Nancy said. "Why would she want to do something like that?"

"She wants one of us to stay here and help her with the ranch."

"I take it neither of you want to stay," Nancy deduced.

Frank looked straight ahead through the window with a rueful expression on his face. "No. We already told her we didn't want to."

"Well, then, that's that," Nancy said. "You might as well stop worrying about it."

"Cousin Ruth isn't taking 'no' for an answer," Frank told her. "Don't misunderstand me. The rest of us Hardys can be just as stubborn when the need arises, but maybe being stubborn about this isn't the right way to do things. Cousin Ruth wasn't fair about how she got us out here, but if she really does need help, we can't just leave her in the lurch."

"Maybe. But don't your parents need you at home? Family has to come first."

"But Cousin Ruth _is_ family," Frank pointed out. "She might not be the closest family that Joe and I have, but we're the closest she has. My parents have Joe, but Cousin Ruth doesn't have anybody else."

Nancy was silent as she considered this. "You know, there's another way of looking at it. _You_ still need your parents, too." She grinned. "If there's one thing I've realized in the last few minutes, it's that seventeen is still a lot younger than I thought when I was sixteen. At least, I know that if I ever have a son, I won't want him traipsing around the Wild West when he's only seventeen, even if the reason for it is because he's trying to do what's right over what he wants."

Frank nodded slowly. "That's a good point. But all the good points in the world don't change what's right."

"Think it over carefully," Nancy advised him. "Don't do anything you'll regret."

"Oh, I probably will, whatever I do," Frank replied.

There wasn't much more to say to that remark, so they both fell silent again. After a minute or so, the door to the room they were watching finally opened. As they had been hoping, the man who came out was Pop Hamilton himself. He didn't give the window so much as a glance as he went down the hall to the front room where the dance was being held.

As soon as he had gone through the door at the other end of the hall, Frank cautiously opened the window. Nancy climbed through first, though it was a bit of a struggle in her long dress, and then Frank. There was still a light on in the room in question, but since neither thought it likely that Hamilton had been sitting in the room with another person for so long without speaking, they decided to chance it.

Nancy gently pushed the door open. There was a fire burning in the hearth inside, but no one was there. Frank and Nancy entered the room, closing the door silently behind them. There was no possible way of telling whether Hamilton had just stepped out for a minute or whether he didn't intend to come back for the rest of the dance, so the two detectives quickly scanned the tabletops and over the mantel for anything of interest.

It didn't take long for Nancy to discover an open telegram just sitting on the table. Hamilton evidently had not been hiding it, so it might not necessarily have anything to do with the murder. However, from what Joe had said about his encounter with Hamilton the day before, it seemed to have some significance. It read:

_No results here STOP Will try Phoenix STOP Now believe horses are still in your area STOP Please advise STOP Radley_

"It sounds like this Radley is looking for some horses for Mr. Hamilton," Nancy observed. "Do you suppose they could be stolen horses?"

"I think it's more than likely," Frank agreed. "That seems to imply that Mr. Hamilton has had more than just two horses disappear, considering he's gotten one of them back and he wouldn't have had time to send a man anywhere out of the immediate area to look for the other."

"It also means he hasn't reported the thefts to the sheriff," Nancy went on. "Why not, I wonder."

Frank chuckled. "If Joe was here, he'd just walk right up to Hamilton and confront him about it, but I think maybe something a little more subtle would be a good idea."

"I have an idea," Nancy said. "It looks like Bess and George each have a Hamilton cowboy who has taken an interest in her. Maybe one of them can learn something."

"We'd better go talk to them before the night's over," Frank replied. "Let's go."

When they reached the party room again, they didn't see either Bess or George. However, Alice almost immediately pushed her way through the crowd toward.

"Nancy! Frank! Thank goodness I found you," she said. "I was almost frantic trying to find somebody, and I didn't know what to do."

"Is something wrong?" Frank asked.

"I think so. I don't know," Alice told him. "Joe saw somebody taking a horse out of Mr. Hamilton's stable, and he went chasing after him on another horse. He told me to go get help, but I didn't even know what was going on. I wanted to find one of you two or Bess or George, but I couldn't find anyone."

"When did this happen?" Frank demanded. Clearly, Joe must have thought that this person was stealing the horse, and in light of what Frank and Nancy had just learned, there was a good chance that he was right. If he took off after the thief on his own, he could end up in deep trouble.

"Fifteen minutes ago. Maybe twenty." Alice almost whimpered as she admitted it. "Like I said, I didn't know what to do."

"Don't you go chasing after Joe on your own, Frank Hardy," Nancy warned her friend. She looked around the room and spotted Pop Hamilton talking to another man a short distance away. Nancy hurried over to him. "Excuse me, Mr. Hamilton."

"Hello, ma'am." Hamilton nodded to her. "Do I know you?"

"Maybe not," Nancy said. "My name's Nancy Drew. About twenty minutes ago, a friend of mine, Joe Hardy, thought he saw someone stealing a horse out of your stable and went chasing after him."

"What?" Hamilton demanded sharply. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I didn't know until a moment ago myself," Nancy told him.

Hamilton spotted Range nearby and called to him. "Go find some of the boys, Range. That horse thief has struck again!"

"Right, boss." Range practically snapped to attention and hurried off.

"May I come, Mr. Hamilton?" Frank requested. "My brother's out there, after all."

Hamilton shook his head. "I don't want any more greenhorn kids along than I can help." Without giving Frank another chance to argue, he forced his way through the crowd toward the front door.

NDNDNDNDND

Joe dug his heels into the horse's sides, urging it to a faster gait. The other horse didn't have more than a few seconds' head start on him, and from what Joe could see, its rider was a good deal heavier than Joe. Joe's horse ought to be able to outrun him.

The other rider was, expectedly, desperate to get away, and he, too, was urging his horse to top speed. The chase must have gone on for about half a mile before Joe had brought his horse up alongside the other. Joe reached for the other horse's reins, but its rider pulled its head to the side and it began to veer away from Joe and out of his reach.

"Come on!" Joe shouted as he turned his own horse after it.

After a few seconds, the horses were once again galloping side-by-side. Now Joe just had the problem of stopping the other horse. Grabbing its reins wouldn't work, since the other rider would just avoid him in the same way again. Another idea popped into Joe's head, and he gritted his teeth at the thought. This would hurt, but it was the only way.

Joe pulled his left foot out of the stirrup, as that was the foot on the opposite side from the other horse. Then he used his right foot to launch himself at the other rider. His horse stumbled and nearly fell at the sudden shift in weight, but Joe was already clear. He hit the other rider in the midsection, and they both tumbled off over the other side.

They hit the ground with a much harder shock than Joe had expected, though he was the better off of the two since he had landed on top of the other rider and had his fall cushioned. Even so, they both lay stunned for a minute or so.

Finally, the other rider groaned. "Ugh. What's wrong with you? Get off me."

Joe picked himself up slowly and a little bit shakily. The other rider sat up. He took in a sharp breath and grasped his left arm with his right.

"I think you broke my arm," he complained.

"Maybe that will make you think twice about stealing another horse," Joe said as he stood up. He was relieved to find that he didn't seem to have broken anything.

"You're not…you're not going to turn me into the sheriff, are you?" the other rider asked, and for the first time, from the pitch of his voice, Joe realized that he must not be any older than Joe himself.

"That's what you usually do with horse thieves," Joe told him.

"But I'm not a horse thief. Not really."

Joe folded his arms. "Oh, sure. You just pretended to steal that horse."

"I didn't steal him for me, and I wouldn't have stolen him at all if there was any other way," the other insisted. "It's that other fellow. He told me that if I didn't, he'd…" He stopped short as if he just realized that he was about to say too much.

"You'd better tell me the whole story," Joe said. "If you're in some kind of trouble, I'll help you if I can, but if you don't tell me anything, I won't have any choice but to haul you in to the sheriff."

"Oh, okay. He's going to kill me, but he'll kill me anyway if I go and get myself arrested. I'm Chet Morton. My folks have a little farm near here. A couple of weeks ago, these fellows rode up to our house. They pushed us around some and waved their guns at us and said they wanted us to pack up and leave. It's not the first time something like that's happened since we came here, and my pa said he wasn't about to leave. Then they got really mean."

"What exactly does that have to do with you stealing horses from Pop Hamilton?" Joe demanded.

"They took my sister away somewhere." Chet's voice trembled. "They said they'd hurt her if we didn't do what they said."

"And they said to steal horses from Mr. Hamilton?" Joe asked.

"I don't know what they want them for, but they said to get them a dozen horses by the end of the month," Chet said. "The only horse we have is my old mare, and they didn't want her. We don't have the money to buy horses, so we had to steal them."

"Where are they now?" Chet seemed so distraught that Joe was finding himself believing his story and softening toward him.

"They're camping in a canyon below our house. At least, some of them are. That's where we take the horses when we get them. Pa and I have looked when we go down there, but they don't have Iola there." His voice began to break as he went on, "Please don't take me to the sheriff. They'll kill Iola for sure if you do that."

Joe bit his lip. "Well, I guess there's no need to be hasty about this. I'm Joe Hardy, by the way. I'm a detective…"

"A detective!" Chet interrupted. "Talking to you is almost as bad as talking to the sheriff! Oh, I've really done it now."

"Hold on," Joe said. "What I was trying to say is that maybe my dad and my brother and I can help you get your sister back. _If_ you're telling the truth, that is."

"I am," Chet assured him, "but I don't know that there's anything you can do."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Joe told him. "At least, I think you'd better come and talk to all of us about this. Anyway, if you really did break your arm…"

"_You_ really did break my arm," Chet corrected him.

"Whatever," Joe replied. "If your arm really is broken, it needs to be set and have a splint put on it, and there should be someone at the ranch who would know how to do that."

"Which ranch?" Chet asked suspiciously.

"Crowhead," Joe said. "You know, Ruth Hardy's ranch. I would have thought you could figure that out from the last name."

"Well, okay," Chet agreed as he stood up clumsily since he couldn't use his left arm to balance himself at all. "That's a long ride, though, and those horses are long gone now." Sure enough, both the horses had galloped off.

"We couldn't take them home anyway," Joe told him. "We'd have to take them back to the Hamilton Ranch. We've got a wagon there. We'll just have to go back. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone what you were doing, except my brother and our friends, but we can trust all of them. How did you get here in the first place?"

"I rode my horse," Chet said. "She's tied up not too far away. I was going to pick her up once I had gotten away from you. We can ride double on her back to the Hamilton place. She's old and she doesn't look like much, but she's strong."

Joe wasn't so sure about that when he saw the bony old palomino that Chet led him to. Yet, despite the fact that Chet was a hefty fellow and Joe was both tall and muscular, the horse didn't seem to have any complaint in carrying them both, though she did plod along at an appallingly slow rate.

When they finally reached the ranch, there was a great deal of excitement as men rushed around, saddling horses and evidently preparing to take off in pursuit of the boys. Chuck Chase noticed them first and rushed forward to grab the palomino's reins.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. "Who are you two?"

"That's Joe Hardy," Range Cooper said as he approached the group. "And isn't that those nesters' boy?"

"Aren't you supposed to be chasing the horse thief?" Chuck asked Joe.

"I was," Joe told him. He pretended to be embarrassed. "But I…Well, the gist of the story is that I sort of fell off the horse I was riding. This fellow was nice enough to give me a ride back to the ranch."

He glanced at Chet, who seemed relieved that Joe had kept his word about not telling anyone that he was the horse thief.

"So we're down two horses now?" Range crossed his arms.

Joe slid down from Chet's horse. "If it doesn't come back by morning, I'll help look for it."

"No, you've done plenty," Range said. "Now, if you don't mind pointing out the direction that horse thief took, we'll go and catch him."

"He _was_ going that way." Joe pointed.

The cowboys hurried to get on their horses and head in that direction. In the midst of the confusion, Frank, Nancy, Alice, and Bess found Joe. They all asked for an explanation, but Joe told them it would have to wait, other than making the necessary introductions with Chet.

"Where did George and Dave wander off to?" Joe asked when he was finished. "We need to be going."

Fortunately, they were spared having to search for the last two members of their party, as George and Dave had heard the commotion and had come to see what was going on. Then the whole group, including Chet, climbed into the wagon, Joe tied Chet's horse to the back, and they started off in the vague direction toward both Crowhead and Shadow Ranch. Joe had Chet repeat his story, and afterwards, everyone sat in concerned silence for a few minutes.

"So, you're a nester, are you?" Dave said finally. "And here I thought regular, law-abiding nesters were trouble enough."

Chet bristled a bit. "It's a free country. You cattlemen don't own any more if it than you have title to. As for the horses, like I told Joe, I never would have taken any of those horses if those men weren't holding my sister and threatening to kill her."

"That's what _you_ say," Dave replied.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Chet protested. "Joe believed me."

"Well, maybe Joe doesn't know much about nesters," Dave said.

"What is a nester?" Joe asked.

"A farmer," Chet told him. "In any other part of the country, it's good, respectable work."

"Then maybe all of you farmers ought to stay in any other part of the country, instead of coming here to tear up our range," Dave said.

"None of that matters right now," Nancy broke in. "We're not going to settle the ranchers versus farmers problem tonight, so let's just leave it be. It's sounds much more urgent to me to try to help this girl that these men are holding."

"Right, Nancy," Frank agreed. "At least, now we know what's happening to Mr. Hamilton's horses. You might be in for some trouble soon, Chet." He explained about the telegram and how its writer, the mysterious Radley, thought that the horses were still in the area. "If Mr. Hamilton believes that, he might start getting suspicious of you, especially after tonight."

Chet groaned. "What am I going to do? Don't they hang you for stealing horses?"

There were several answers of both "Yes" and "No" and everyone looked at one another in confusion.

"How about it, Nancy?" Joe asked. "You probably know about that sort of thing, considering your father is a lawyer."

"Well, legally, a person can be hung for horse theft," Nancy said. "It doesn't happen very often, though, and especially given the circumstances, I don't think you particularly have to worry about it. Although you could have a long prison sentence, which wouldn't be very nice, either."

"And lynchings for horse thieves aren't uncommon around here, either," Dave added.

Chet groaned again.

"Don't worry," Frank told him. "We'll just simply have to find your sister and get those horses back. If you help get them back, then under the circumstances, I doubt you'd have to spend any time in jail at all."

"We'll get right on it tomorrow," Joe said.

Nancy bit her lip thoughtfully in the darkness. She believed Chet, and she felt confident that between her and the Hardys they would be able to rescue Iola and get back the horses, but she wasn't so sure that the swift and unbending justice of the West would be so forgiving as Frank – or even herself – had said.


	11. Chapter X

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you so much for continuing to read! In particular, thank you to angelicalkiss, Drumboy100, Rose12, and Cherylann Rivers for your reviews since I posted the last chapter!_

**Chapter X**

The day of the trial dawned as hot and dry as if it was doomsday itself. The party from Shadow Ranch left early in the morning, before the sun rose, to try to escape the blistering heat, but even so, they were all sweltering before they reached Dry Creek. The heat and the early morning following directly on the heels of the late night of the dance would have been enough to try the patience of all the passengers of the buckboard wagon, but most of them had other reasons for maintaining a stony silence.

Sheriff Humber was gnawing at his fingernails in anticipation. The lawman in him wanted to see justice done for Dirk Valentine, and he doubted that this court would give him justice. The father in him wanted to see any dangerous man who would try to sneak under his nose to steal his daughter away and lead her into a life of crime hung. He couldn't decide which side of him was right, but he had no doubt that the side that was wrong was very wrong indeed.

Carson had found himself in the clutches of anxiety. He wished he was back home in River Heights and that he had never heard of Dirk Valentine or the ridiculous way that "justice" was carried out in the West. Then this whole trial, whether it was decided that Dirk would live or die, would be nothing to him. Then he could go about his life without even knowing it had happened. But Fate – or perhaps a wiser Design than Fate – had decreed that he would have to be here, and if he had to be here, then he also had to do something about it. An idea about what that something was had been growing in him, gnawing at him since Monday. He had to make a choice, but he already knew there was only one choice he could make.

The only other passengers of the wagon were Nancy, Bess, and George, who, despite having more cause to be tired than the two men, were in a rather better frame of mind, though they were no less quiet. Nancy was thinking too much about the case and how she would answer questions that she felt certain the prosecutor would ask her in the trial. She had to be both truthful and clear, and so she didn't want to leave her answers to the last minute in case she was nervous when she stepped up to the witness stand. Bess was daydreaming fondly of a certain young cowboy and was wondering when she might see him again, though from what he had said when he had been called away to attend to his duty of following the horse thief, she was sure it wouldn't be long before he would come calling on her. George, much to her dismay, was finding herself caught in similar daydreams about a different cowboy, though she was doing a fair job of cooling them down by reminding herself every time of how she had made a fool of herself, crying in front of him not once, but twice. All his assurances that he didn't think any the less of her for it were probably just him being polite, and he probably really did think she was an idiotic weakling.

Dave himself was riding alongside the wagon, as was Hernandez. The latter was mostly just trying to keep himself from dozing off in the saddle, considering what an early morning this was, and wondering why Sheriff Humber's new orders were that he was to follow Miss Drew around all the time, not just when she specifically stated that she was going on a detective venture. The former was only silent because it was in his nature, though his thoughts were warm as they centered around a particular girl.

The most conspicuous person who was missing from the party was, of course, Frances. She had disappeared even before the others had left, though none of them believed that she would miss the trial.

When they arrived in town, there was a full two hours before the trial would begin. Nancy excused herself and went down to the hotel. She knocked on the door to Ned Nickerson's room.

"Who's there?" he called, his voice sounding much stronger than it had when Nancy had last heard it.

"Nancy Drew."

"Just a moment," Ned called back. After a few seconds, he added, "All right. Come in."

Nancy entered the room to find Ned, fully dressed, sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard. He had all the covers flung away at the end of the bed and the window was open, but his dark hair was damp with sweat and he was trying to fan himself with a book. It was no wonder, considering that the oppressive heat outside was making the room stuffy and miserable inside.

"Good morning, Miss Drew," he said. "This is a surprise."

"I was in town anyway for the trial, so I thought I'd come and see how you were," Nancy replied.

"I'm much better, thank you," Ned told her. He did look much better. The bruises on his face were beginning to heal already and he looked and sounded almost cheerful. "So, you have to testify after all. I was starting to wonder whether they were going to bother with witnesses. Everyone in town seems to already be convinced that Valentine's the killer."

"How do you know what everyone in town is saying?" Nancy asked. "You must be getting a lot of visitors."

"You're the first one besides my parents, actually. I have a confession to make. I've been spending most of my time sitting by the window and reading, despite the doctor's strict orders that I'm supposed to be in bed, and not sitting like I am now. I'd suffocate if I did that in this heat, though. It's not much better by the window, but it helps a little. You can hear practically everything that's said on the street from over there, too. People are pretty excited about this hanging. There hasn't been a hanging in this town for years. I think the old sheriff didn't bring enough prisoners back alive for there to be many chances to hang them."

"You don't seem to be terribly impressed with the system of justice out here," Nancy observed.

"No," Ned replied. "I think it's sickening that people actually want to watch a hanging, and I don't think the West is going to get tamed as long as this sort of thing is going. 'These violent delights have violent ends'*, after all."

"You know Shakespeare?" Nancy asked. It was an abrupt change of subject, but Ned's quote had caught her by surprise.

"I'm familiar with the Bard." Ned held up the book he had been fanning himself with and Nancy saw that it was a cloth-bound copy of _Romeo and Juliet_.

Nancy grinned. "You don't strike me as the sort who would like that particular play."

"Well, I have to admit that I prefer the comedies. _The Merchant of Venice_, _Twelfth Night_, _Much Ado about Nothing_. Still, this one brings back memories."

"Of what?"

"When I was fourteen and in boarding school." Ned grinned at the memory. "We had a literature professor who insisted that the only way a person could really learn to appreciate Shakespeare was to see his plays performed, or better yet, perform in them. So he decided to have his literature class perform _Romeo and Juliet_. Why he picked that play for an all-boys school, I don't know, other than that he said that it was performed by an all-male cast in Shakespeare's time. I think more of the boys learned an undying hatred of Shakespeare than to appreciate him."

Nancy laughed. "Please tell me that you didn't play Juliet."

"No, Mercutio, fortunately," Ned told her. "I was one of the lucky ones. I don't know what happened to the fellow who played Juliet. I wouldn't be surprised if he dropped out of school."

"You didn't see him the next year?"

"No, but that was because I didn't go back to that school. My parents decided I'd be better off closer to them in California."

"Oh, so you're from California?" Nancy asked.

"Where am I _not_ from?" Ned grinned. "We've been here for three years, and I think it's the longest I've lived in any one place in my life. Sometimes I think the Nickersons must have some gypsy blood in our background."

"Well, you have something holding you here with the paper to run," Nancy observed. "Although it looked like your father is going to have to make some repairs before he's ready to put out another edition."

Ned shook his head. "They broke the printing press. It doesn't look like it's going to be operational again, and we don't have the money to replace it. I'm expecting that as soon as the shock wears off, my father will start talking about moving on again."

"Where do you think you'll go?"

"Who knows where my parents will go?" Ned replied. "As for me, I'm not going anywhere. I've been here long enough to have some roots start growing, and I don't want to tear them up quite yet. See, I don't think I inherited any of that gypsy blood."

"But won't you miss your parents?" Nancy thought back to the night before and to Frank's dilemma. She was surprised that if even an adventurer like Frank would want to stay with his parents that someone like Ned would be so willing to be separated from them.

"Of course," Ned told her. "But if they have me to anchor them here, so to speak, they won't go far or stay away too long. Living on the road isn't any kind of life. Not for me, anyway, and I'm old enough to start making that kind of decision for myself."

"Hmm." For a moment, Nancy wondered whether she was mature enough to stay out here by herself with her father and Hannah back in River Heights. It wasn't very likely that she would have anyone ask her to stay now, though.

"There's plenty of work I can find, too," Ned went on. "There's plenty of people who need hired help around here, and I'm not afraid of a little hard work."

"Good," Nancy said. "Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I'd better go see if there's anything my father needs me to do before the trial and before Mr. Hernandez comes looking for me. I'm glad you're feeling, and I hope I have the chance to see you again before I have to go home."

"I hope so, too. Thank you for stopping by, Miss Drew." Ned grinned as he added, "'Parting is such sweet sorrow.'"*

Nancy laughed and shook her head as she made her way back down to the street. This was the first ordinary conversation she had had with Ned, and she was glad that she had gotten the chance. He was very good at saying just enough about himself to put people at ease and make himself appear open without really saying all that much. He would make an excellent journalist…or a detective.

The next couple of hours before the trial began were spent putting the finishing touches on the makeshift courtroom that had been set up in the sheriff's office. Much to Carson's relief, the prosecutor, Herschel Duncan, had actually come through and found a defense attorney for Dirk. He was a very young man named Randal Elwood, but after talking to him for a few minutes, Carson had satisfied himself that he was competent and was willing to give his client the benefit of the doubt.

The jury selection went quickly, and then the actual trial began. Judge Hart, the circuit judge, began by asking for opening remarks from the two attorneys.

Duncan stood up and cleared his throat. "Your Honor. Gentlemen of the jury. It is well-known that this area has been plagued for months by a band of outlaws who have stolen both valuables and objects of only sentimental value from travelers in our area, who have stolen payrolls from the hardworking miners of this area, and who have stolen from perhaps every person in this room by robbing the banks in the area."

Nancy heard the sound of someone coming into the room and glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Frances slip inside and take a seat at the back of the room.

"In the past week," Duncan continued, "their tactics have escalated to beatings, shootings, and even, the prosecution intends to prove, murder. The prosecution further intends to prove that this bloodthirsty gang of outlaws is led by none other than the man you see sitting before you today, the defendant, Dirk Valentine. Not only must the defendant be found guilty of robbing the Tumbleweed stage on Friday and robbing the Dry Creek Bank on Sunday, which resulted in the ruthless and unnecessary shooting of the bank's manager, Ross Regor, he must also be held accountable for the merciless beating of Ned Nickerson early Monday morning, accompanied by the wanton destruction of the office of the _Dry Creek Gazette_. Most importantly, the prosecution intends to prove beyond doubt that the brutal murder of Christopher Mason on Friday happened at the direct orders of the defendant, if not by his own hand. Gentlemen of the jury, there can be no choice, no reconciling of either law or conscience, to find other than that the defendant is guilty of all charges and to recommend the most severe penalty allowed by the law."

Bess leaned over to whisper to Nancy, "If I didn't know better, he'd almost have me convinced with that speech."

"I think he's hoping that the jury doesn't know any better," Nancy whispered back.

Judge Hart, however, was unmoved. He didn't say anything other than to turn to Elwood and ask, "Does the defense wish to make any opening remarks?"

Elwood stood up. "No, Your Honor."

Carson bit his lip. It was perfectly possible to win a case without an opening statement, and perhaps Elwood hadn't had time to plan out an effective one, but a corner of Carson's mind was beginning to second guess his assessment of Elwood's competency.

"The prosecution may call the first witness," the judge announced.

Duncan stood up. "The prosecution calls Miss Nancy Drew to the stand."

Nancy had been sitting on the end of a row, and so she was able to get out of the bench easily. However, as she walked up to the witness stand, she had a sinking feeling that there was nothing she could say that would show that there was doubt as to whether Dirk Valentine was the murderer. Duncan had already heard it all, and he obviously wasn't convinced. The jury would see that and agree with him.

Then the thought passed through Nancy's mind that, even if Dirk didn't kill Mason, he deserved to hang for his other crimes. He might have been the one who had shot Ross Regor, and if he wasn't, he hadn't done anything to stop it from happening. They could have easily killed Mr. Regor. Then there was Ned. Dirk couldn't have possibly been one of those two men, but she didn't really believe that he didn't know anything about it. And who knew how many other people's deaths or near deaths Dirk had been responsible, directly or indirectly. It was just a technicality if he was hung on a different charge than one that he had actually committed.

The thought passed as soon as it came. A man couldn't be hung on might-have-beens and maybes. He couldn't even be jailed for that. The law should have taken the trouble to learn exactly what had happened, even if it did postpone the trial for two months.

Sheriff Humber held out a Bible to her. "Place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand." Nancy did so, and Humber continued, "Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," Nancy replied.

"State your name," Humber went on.

"Nancy Drew."

"Please take the witness stand, Miss Drew."

Nancy sat down, and then Duncan came forward. He gave her an ingratiating smile and then asked, "What is your occupation, Miss Drew?"

"I don't officially have an occupation, although I'm an amateur detective."

"Ah, an amateur detective. How interesting. How long have you been working as a detective?"

"In earnest, for eight years. Before that, I only solved a few very small mysteries."

"So, you must have a great deal of practice with observational skills."

"Yes."

"Where are you from, Miss Drew?"

"River Heights, Illinois."

"And when did you arrive in Dry Creek?"

"I arrived at Shadow Ranch late Friday evening, although I didn't actually enter Dry Creek until Sunday."

"Then you were on the stagecoach on Friday."

Nancy glanced at Elwood, but the lawyer made no move to object. Duncan's statement could have been considered leading the witness, but then objecting to it wouldn't do much good. It was an easily established fact that Nancy had been on the stagecoach.

"That's correct."

"And you were there when the stagecoach was robbed?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind telling us what these outlaws looked like?"

"No." Nancy took a deep breath and gave the exact same descriptions of the three outlaws that she had given to the sheriff and to Ned a few days earlier. She happened to meet Frances' gaze in the midst of her description of Dirk, and Nancy could practically feel the hate and fury seething out of the girl. Nancy involuntarily shivered, feeling as if she had just been threatened.

No one else in the room seemed to notice, though, least of all Duncan. He nodded approvingly. "Those are mighty detailed descriptions of men who were wearing bandanas over their faces, Miss Drew. Do you feel that you'd be able to recognize them again if you saw them?"

"Yes, I do."

"In your opinion, is the defendant, Dirk Valentine, one of those three men?"

"Yes, I'm certain that he is."

"Now, being a detective of eight years' experience, you ought to be able to recognize those men again just after seeing them once, but then I suppose it's possible for even the best of us to make a mistake. Is there anything else that makes you so certain that Dirk Valentine is one of the robbers?"

"When I helped to capture him, he recognized me from the stagecoach, too."

"Did he say so?"

"Yes. He had left us with some water when one of the other men frightened off the horses. I thanked him for it. Then, as well as I remember it, he said something like, 'That girl from the stagecoach. You recognized me?'"

"That does seem to prove that Valentine is the same man."

Nancy glanced from Elwood to the judge and then to her father. That was certainly a statement that Elwood should have objected to, and Nancy could tell from his expression that Carson was thinking the same thing. Neither Elwood nor Judge Hart seemed to think anything of it, though.

"Were you present at the bank robbery on Sunday, Miss Drew?"

"Not exactly," Nancy replied. "I didn't arrive until a minute or so after the robbers had gone."

"But you did see them as you were leaving?"

"From the back. Not well enough to identify them."

"But could have they been the same three men who had robbed the stagecoach?"

"Yes, or any other three men. I really didn't get a good look at them at all."

"Was there anything to make you think it was the same three men?"

"Well, there was a silver heart pendant on the ground outside that matched the one that Mr. Valentine had on his horse's bridle. I noticed that the one from his bridle was missing when we captured him."

"Now you have mentioned twice that you helped to capture the defendant, Miss Drew. Would you tell us how that came to happen?"

Nancy described the capture, blushing a little at some parts. She couldn't meet Frances' eye, but she didn't need to to feel her burning glare.

"And this happened on Shadow Mountain, where the murder of Christopher Mason also occurred?"

"Yes."

"You mentioned that the letter you intercepted that led you to capture Dirk Valentine called the place where Miss Humber was to meet him his 'hiding place'. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"That implies that the defendant has spent time, perhaps considerable time, in that spot."

"Possibly," Nancy admitted.

"The prosecution has no further questions for this witness," Duncan announced, turning toward the judge's bench.

"The defense may cross-examine," Judge Hart announced.

Elwood stood up, looking a little nervous, Nancy thought. "Miss Drew, isn't it possible that, considering that the outlaws who held up the stagecoach were wearing masks, you might have misidentified the defendant as one of them?"

"Yes, it's possible," Nancy admitted.

"And yet, you're willing to swear that he is the same man?"

"Yes, both because he looks like the outlaw and because he recognized me as being from the stagecoach. That would have been impossible if he hadn't been there."

"No further questions," were Elwood's unexpected next words.

Nancy glanced uncertainly at the judge, but she was instructed to return to her seat. She sat next to Bess again, feeling anxious. Either Elwood wasn't trying very hard or he had a peculiar strategy for this case.

Duncan called several more witnesses, and he also had a statement from Ross Regor read aloud. Regor was still confined to bed and couldn't be there, and so the judge allowed a written statement from him to be admitted as evidence. Though the evidence seemed to seal Dirk's involvement in the robberies, Nancy didn't think any of it particularly tied him to the murder.

Elwood's lack of preparation for the case was obvious. He didn't seem to know what questions to ask on cross-examinations, and he only called two witnesses to the stand: Sheriff Humber and Dirk Valentine himself. Humber testified that Valentine's gang had not actually murdered anyone, while Dirk basically just reiterated that he was innocent.

At two-thirty in the afternoon, the jury recessed. They only deliberated for about an hour before they returned, stating that they had reached a verdict.

"What is your verdict?" Judge Hart asked.

The foreman of the jury rose and announced, "We find the defendant guilty on all charges, Your Honor."

Nancy glanced at her father, who had closed his eyes and looked as if he was in pain. She knew that he was mentally berating himself for not taking the case. Maybe he couldn't have won it, but he certainly could have made a better effort than Elwood had.

"Will the defendant rise?" Judge Hart requested.

Dirk stood up. He was still holding his head proudly.

"Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence on you?" Hart asked.

"No." Dirk raised his chin a little more.

"Dirk Valentine, you have been tried by a jury of your peers and found guilty on the charges of murder, attempted murder, and armed robbery," Hart said. "I sentence you to be taken into the custody of the sheriff of Dry Creek and held in jail for a period of two days. On Friday morning, at sunrise, you will be removed from your cell and will be hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."

Nancy heard a strangled sob behind her and looked back just in time to see Frances rush from the room. On impulse, Nancy stood up and followed her, as did Bess and George.

"Wait! Frances, stop!" Nancy called after her.

Frances stopped and turned around. "What do you want? Do you want to kill me, too?"

"No, of course not." Nancy was taken aback by the accusation. "I want to help, if I can. What happened in there wasn't right. I promise you I'll find out who really killed Chris Mason before Friday."

Frances closed her eyes and shook her head. "No. No, you won't. Can't you see, Nancy? This is all your fault. If you would have just minded your own business, none of this would have happened. You've as good as murdered Dirk. I hate you!"

"Now, look here." George stepped forward. "I'm sure this is hard to accept, Frances, but Nancy has only been doing…"

"Oh, shut up!" Frances shouted. "Just shut up! Save your sermons and your patronizing statements. I hope you do find the real murderer, Nancy Drew, and that he kills you before you can hurt anyone else! _That_'s the only justice I'm interested in."

She turned on her heel and ran away, sobbing as she went and leaving the other three girls staring after her in astonishment.

"Wow!" Bess said, finding her voice first. "I take back every nice thing I've ever said about her."

"I would, too, if I had ever said anything nice about her," George added.

Nancy shook her head. "No. I don't blame her for being angry. She needs somebody to blame. But I meant what I said. If Dirk really is innocent – of murder, anyway – I'm going to make sure yet that he doesn't hang."

*William Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_


	12. Chapter XI

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read! Thank you especially to all the reviewers from the last chapter: Rose12, Drumboy100, angelicalkiss, Guest (you certainly seem to be a man or woman of few words! Lol!), and Cherylann Rivers!_

**Chapter XI**

Fenton Hardy had his arms crossed as he listened to the story. There was more than one point that he was finding tough to believe. Frank and Joe were seated on a bench behind him, also listening carefully. The story hadn't changed with the day or with the storyteller, and so they were even more inclined to believe it than ever.

They were gathered in the Morton farmhouse in the little front room that served for a kitchen, dining room, and the entire common area of the house. The only other rooms in the house were three tiny bedrooms that scarcely had room for beds in them, a pantry that was essentially an oversized cupboard built into the wall, and a cellar that was actually of decent size. Mrs. Morton and Chet, his arm in a sling, were sitting at the table while Mr. Morton reiterated the entire story that Chet had told last, answering any questions that the Hardys had for him.

Fenton shook his head. "There's no end to cases out here, is there?"

Frank and Joe glanced at one another. They could tell that their father didn't believe the story quite so easily as they had and that now he was testing the Mortons to see if any of them would give anything away that would contradict their story.

Mr. Morton put forth an effort to keep his emotions from showing too clearly on his face. "Mr. Hardy, I'm not a rich man. I can't afford to pay you the kind of fees you're used to receiving for your services. Still, those ruffians have my daughter, and your boys did make a promise."

Mrs. Morton stood up and clasped her hands together. "I'll beg you on hands and knees if that's what it takes, Mr. Hardy. This is the first time I've had any real hope of getting her back safe and sound."

Fenton relented a little. "All right. I'll stay here and take down full descriptions of all of those men. Boys, I want you to go into town and see how that trial's going. I think you'd better take Chet here, too, so a real doctor can take a look at his arm."

"But we couldn't afford that," Chet protested.

"I'll pay for it," Fenton said. "Seeing as how Joe is the one who broke it."

He cast a meaningful look at his sons, who nodded in understanding. They would be sure to keep Chet talking the whole afternoon and watch for any discrepancies in the story or for any clues.

"Then, tonight, we'll go down to that hideout where you've been taking the horses," Fenton continued. "I'll need you to show us the way, Mr. Morton. Hopefully, we can find some clues there."

"Okay, Dad. We'll be there," Frank promised.

A few minutes later, he had set out with Joe and Chet. Frank and Joe were, of course, riding horses that they had borrowed from Crowhead Ranch, but Chet was riding his old palomino mare, which he said was named Queen.

"Are you sure that horse shouldn't be let out to pasture?" Joe asked as they ambled along at a slow pace so that Queen could keep up.

"Nah," Chet replied. "She's as strong as ever."

When they reached town a couple of hours later, they found Nancy, Bess, and George standing together on a street corner and talking in low voices. The boys called to them.

"Is the trial over already?" Frank asked as they came close enough to talk.

The girls nodded wordlessly.

"That sounds like bad news," Joe observed as he climbed down from his horse and tied it to a nearby hitching post.

"They're going to hang him on Friday," George reported, "and they still didn't have a shred of evidence in my opinion."

"We have to find out who the murderer really is by Friday," Nancy said, clenching her fists in her determination.

"Dirk _could_ be the murderer, even if they didn't have very good evidence for it," Joe pointed out.

"True," Nancy admitted, "but we have to know for sure, one way or the other."

"We're in," Frank assured her.

"Wait, what about my sister?" Chet demanded. "She could be in just as much danger, and she's not an outlaw."

"We've worked more than one case at a time before," Frank told him. "We just have to be organized and have a strategy for both cases. What ideas do you have, Nancy?"

"With so many robbers and horse thieves and kidnappers and who knows what other kind of outlaws around, it's easy to believe that Mason might have been killed by one of them for something that he saw," Nancy explained. "I hope not, though, because I don't know how we could prove that in just two days. It could have been a personal grudge, which means that the rest of the men at Crowhead are prime suspects since they would have known him the best of anyone around here."

"They're all pretty on edge over the whole thing," Frank said. "A murder would be enough to do that in any case, and if there's any of them who didn't like Mason, he's putting on a good act."

"It could be something from the past, too," Nancy went on. "We know he's from Kansas. I'll do some investigating and see if I can find out anything more about him and where he's lived and whether anyone else around here could have known him from somewhere else. Bess, George, do either of you have some extra money? I have a feeling I'm going to have to send a lot of telegrams."

"We'll look into his service in the War," Joe offered. "He was on the South's side, but apparently he was reconciled to the outcome. Still, there are enough bitter feelings over the War left that maybe that was the reason for the murder."

"Okay." Nancy bit her lip. "Both of these options are going to involve a lot of telegrams and we might not get the responses we need very quickly. It only takes one person to write telegrams, so, girls, why don't you go see if you can learn anything from the cowboys at Shadow Ranch, and maybe one of you Hardys could start in on the Crowhead cowboys. Oh, and, George, see if you can recruit Mr. Gregory. He could be a big help in this."

Unexpectedly, George blushed a deep red, but she managed to say without too much mumbling, "I'm sure he'd be glad to help."

"I'll go back to the ranch," Joe volunteered. "You want to come with me, Chet? You want to come with me, Chet? Well, once we get your arm fixed up, anyway."

"Oh, all right," Chet agreed, "but only to keep reminding you that you need to look for my sister, too."

The group was about to separate and go their own ways when Hernandez ambled up to them, the tin star on his chest glinting in the sunlight.

"There you are, Miss Drew," he said. "Sheriff Humber wouldn't like it if I let you slip past me again. He left me strict orders that I'm not to let you out of my sight."

"Oh." Nancy felt a certain amount of deflation. She had almost forgotten about Hernandez and his orders. "Well, Frank and I were just going down to the telegraph office. That shouldn't be too dangerous."

"Good," Hernandez replied. "It's too hot for us to do anything dangerous."

Nancy cast a glance at her friends, but there didn't seem to be anything any of them could do to dissuade Hernandez from carrying out his orders.

"Well, then, come on, Mr. Hernandez, we can't waste any time," Nancy told him.

The others went their own ways, and Nancy, Frank, and Hernandez made straight for the telegraph office. Nancy and Frank immediately each picked up a sheet of paper to write their respective telegraphs on. Hernandez seemed content to sit down and fan himself with his hat.

"Who are you wiring to find out about Mason's military history?" Nancy asked after she had written out her inquiry and handed it to the telegraph operator.

"My father has quite a few contacts," Frank told her, "including some in Washington and in law enforcement. It might take a few tries to find someone who can tell me what I need to know, but I think I should get some answers before too long."

"I just wired the sheriff in the town that Mason is from and asked him to send me what he knows about Mason," Nancy said. "It might not be much, but I'm hoping I can learn something."

"You know, if either of you need someone official to get answers from these people, I'll be happy to help," Hernandez offered.

"Thank you. We might have to take you up on it if we run into any trouble," Nancy said, casting a smile at Frank as she did so.

Frank smiled back at her, but she thought she detected just the slightest bit of hesitation in him. Instantly, their conversation from the night before flashed upon Nancy's mind as vividly as a bolt of lightning, and she wondered if maybe Frank hadn't been completely honest in saying that he didn't have feelings for her. She hoped it wasn't so. She didn't want to hurt him.

NDNDNDNDND

Joe and Chet, meanwhile, were sitting in the foyer of the doctor's office. There was another patient there ahead of them, and the doctor had asked them to wait.

They were both silent for the first few minutes that they were sitting there, which was unusual for either boy. Chet was the one to finally break the silence.

"Your friend sure is pretty," he said.

"Only one of them?" Joe asked, almost involuntarily reverting to teasing him.

"Well, no, all three of them are," Chet hastily corrected himself. "It's just that Miss Marvin is _particularly_ pretty."

Joe smiled wryly. "Oh. Well, you won't get any argument there. Not from me or a dozen other men from the looks of things."

"I guess a girl like that would have a lot of fellows chasing after her." Chet sighed. "Well, there's bigger things to worry about right now. Like how you're planning on finding my sister _and_ catching that murderer."

"We'll do it," Joe assured him. "My brother and I have solved every case we've ever worked on."

"How many is that?" Chet asked.

"Oh, a dozen or so." Joe shrugged. "I have to admit, we've never worked on a murder before, though we have handled a kidnapping or two. The two day time limit is a little concerning, too."

"You might only have two days to save that outlaw, but my sister needs rescuing as soon as possible," Chet insisted.

"How old is your sister, anyway?" Joe asked, realizing suddenly that they had neglected to ask that important question.

"Fifteen," Chet told him. "They've been holding her for over a week. Do you think she's all right?"

Joe wrinkled his nose as he stared straight ahead, unable and unwilling to make eye contact with Chet. Kidnap victims, especially girls, who were held for that long were seldom all right, and he debated whether it would be best to warn Chet of the worst or keep him hoping for the best. Finally, he decided that hoping for the best couldn't hurt anything.

"I'm sure they wouldn't hurt her," he said. "They need her to make sure you and your father keep cooperating with them."

"But we wouldn't know the difference," Chet protested.

Fortunately, Joe was spared having to come up with an answer to this. The doctor came out and said that he was ready to take a look at Chet's arm now.

NDNDNDNDND

"How are we going to get back to the ranch?" Bess asked as she and George walked toward the sheriff's office once again. "We came in the buckboard, remember, so if everyone isn't ready to go home yet, there's not much we can do."

George frowned thoughtfully. "I guess we'll just have to wait after all. All the men will be out working until evening, anyway. Maybe there's something we could find out here in town."

"We can at least talk to Mr. Gregory," Bess said with a mischievous grin. "He could go back to the ranch now since he brought his own horse and start getting some information better than we could."

George stopped and bit her lip. "Maybe you'd better talk to him, Bess."

"Why me?" Bess kept up her teasing attitude. "I've been getting the distinct impression lately that he likes you a great deal."

"I know. That's the problem." George clasped her hands in front of her and looked down at them.

Bess's expression became more serious. "Why is that a problem? You're not still insisting that you hope you'll never fall in love because you think it will make you silly, are you? Because, George, really…"

"No, it's not that," George interrupted, waving a hand impatiently. "I just don't know that I want a man hanging around me all the time. They're an awful lot of trouble."

"You can't have gotten into all that much trouble already."

George blushed and looked away. "No, I don't think I've gotten into any trouble at all, really, other than maybe to give Dave – Mr. Gregory – the impression that I'd like to start seeing him when I'm not so sure I do."

Bess could think of a few teasing remarks she could make, but she was getting the impression that George needed someone to listen to her more than she needed someone to tease her. "What happened, exactly, last night, if that's not too indelicate a question?"

"Nothing happened, really," George said. "We just went outside and sat for a while and talked. But you see, the problem is that I wasn't thinking at all. It turned out all right because Dave is a gentleman, but what if he hadn't been? What if I had gone outside with Range Cooper instead? Maybe he wouldn't have been so gentlemanly. You know, I really feeling very flattered at both of them paying so much attention to me, and I was enjoying it then, but all day I've been wondering if I wasn't wrong to be encouraging them both."

Bess stopped to think before answering. Finally, she said, "If you really were encouraging both of them, then yes, that was wrong, but if it didn't go any further than just dancing with them, I don't think you need to worry about it. That's what you do at a dance. On the other hand, if you do feel you've done wrong, then it's only a very small thing and it is a good lesson to keep from getting into any kind of more serious trouble. Now you know how easy it is to get swept off your feet and how important it is to try to keep your head about these things."

"What about slipping outside with Dave?" George insisted. "I didn't even think about it then, but it really was a risky thing to do."

Bess sighed. "That's the whole trouble with romance. One moment, you feel as if everything in the world is perfect and that you're the happiest person in all that happy, perfect world, and then the next, you're wallowing in the clutches of a guilty conscience. There's no harm in talking to a man, though, George. In fact, unless you were just telling him a bunch of lies about yourself or making promises you don't intend to keep, then talking to him is exactly how you should go about things if you have feelings for him."

"I don't know that I do," George mumbled.

"Well, if you didn't, you'd know that for certain," Bess told her.

George shook her head. "Like I said, I don't know that I want a man around just now. I like being my own woman and making my own decisions and having my freedom."

"And just how long is that going to satisfy you, dear cousin?" Bess asked. "You might have your freedom, but is that really going to be such a comfort when you're lonely?"

"Being free is one of the most important things in life," George argued. "That's one of the principles our entire country was founded on."

"True, but it all depends on what you mean by 'freedom,'" Bess said. "I mean, there have to be some things that people aren't free to do for anyone to be free to do anything at all. After all, if people were free to go about robbing and killing each other without any consequences, no one would really be free to leave their home without having to worry about all their belongings being stolen and their family killed."

"I just want to be my own woman. I don't want to be a robber."

"I guess most people don't," Bess admitted. "My point is, though, that when the Founding Fathers were talking about freedom, I think they just meant that everyone had a right to mind their own business and do whatever work they saw fit, so long as it didn't cut into someone else's rights, and just generally not have to be anybody's slave. I don't see how marriage takes away any of those rights. Of course, if the sort of freedom you have in mind is not having any responsibilities or anyone depending on you, then marriage definitely takes that kind of freedom away from you. Still, you can't avoid responsibilities your whole life, and it seems to me that it would be nicer to have someone at your side."

"Can you really imagine me being a housewife and making dinner and cleaning with half a dozen children underfoot?" George asked.

Bess giggled. "It's a pretty funny idea at that. But to be more serious, if you really did have a half a dozen children, some of them at least would be old enough to help with the housework. It's not like you'd be trying to take care of six newborns, cooking meals for an army, and trying to clean out an absolute pigsty all at the same time completely by yourself. And what could you really do that would be more fulfilling than having a husband who loves you and the two of you working together to raise children who will grow up to be the men and women who shape the future, and in between whiles having your life filled with all those moments, both big and little, good and bad, that make life worth living? After all, every other job in the world, even being President, would be worthless without all those husbands and wives and their children."

"I don't know," George muttered. "Come on. We've got more important things to worry about. We can't waste any more time in solving this mystery."

She started forward again, making straight for the sheriff's office. Bess hung back for just a moment so that she could give her head a little shake. There had always been a part of her that had wondered what would become of her cousin. Ever since the accident, Bess had been wondering about it even more. Maybe she was reading more into George's words and actions than was really there, but she was feeling uneasy about it all the same. She was glad Nancy was there. Nancy always had good insight, and between the two of them, they ought to be able to figure out what to do.


	13. Chapter XII

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Once again, thanks for reading! Thank you especially to everyone who has left reviews since I posted the last chapter: Cherylann Rivers, Drumboy100, Rose12, angelicalkiss, and drogorath! I also love to hear what you think, especially your guesses for what will happen next!_

_I do have a little bit of bad news, I'm afraid. I have a crazy week ahead of me and some stuff that I __**have**__to get done despite having very little time to do it. Because of that, the next chapter is going to be late. Possibly, I won't post again until next Tuesday. I have to wait and see how the next few days go. Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads up about it so you're not wondering what's going on when there's no chapter Friday morning._

**Chapter XII**

It was early evening by the time Nancy and Hernandez came riding up to Shadow Ranch. Dave had offered to bring Nancy's horse, as well as a horse for Sheriff Humber who was staying later, into town after he had gone back to Shadow Ranch with Bess and George in the buckboard and left his own horse in town for Carson to use.

Much to Nancy's surprise, she had found Hernandez to be rather insightful about the case. Frank had had to leave the telegraph office sooner than Nancy so that he could go with his father and Joe to try to rescue Iola, though it hadn't escaped Nancy's notice that his departure was pretty abrupt after he had gotten his answer to his inquiries. She felt awkward not talking to Hernandez at all, and so she found herself telling him about the response she had gotten to her inquiries. Then they had discussed the case during the entire ride back to the ranch.

"It sounds like Chris Mason has done a lot of drifting around," Hernandez observed. "That's pretty common for cowboys. Most of us don't like being stuck in one place. Still, that means that any of the boys working around here could have known Mason from just about anywhere."

"That's true," Nancy agreed. "He'd been working at Crowhead for almost a year, though, so anyone else working there would have had opportunities before now to kill him. That makes them a little less suspicious."

"If he was killed over an old grudge, but someone might have had something more recent against him," Hernandez pointed out. "The boys at Crowhead would have had more chances to have a grudge against him in that case."

Nancy was silent for a few minutes, thinking this over. She had spent five days working on this case, as had the Hardys and Sheriff Humber, and they were no closer to getting any answers than they had been before. Then finally she said, "Where do all the men come from at Shadow Ranch?"

"Let's see." Hernandez thought about it for a moment or two. "Of course, I come from Mexico, a little town about eighty miles south of border called San Juan de la Cruz. I have been in this area ever since I came to this country, seven years ago. Dave is from Montana. I think you already knew that. He's been working here for only eight or nine months. I think he took a few odd jobs while he was working his way down south. Tex and Bud grew up around here, but they've both done some drifting in other directions. Walt doesn't talk much about where he's from, but I think he's traveled over most of the West."

"What about Shorty?" Nancy asked.

Hernandez grinned. "I don't think you have to worry about Shorty being a murderer. If he knows which end of a gun shoots, it would be more than I would think of him. But I think he's been everywhere and done about as little as he could get away with. He's the sort who's always chasing some plan to get as much money as he possibly can as fast as he can."

"Do you think he's done anything dishonest to try to get money?"

"Maybe. Wouldn't put it past him. But unless someone offered him a sizeable piece of money to kill Mason, I couldn't see him even trying it, and if he did try it, I couldn't see him managing it."

"It's surprising what people are capable of sometimes," Nancy told him. "What about the other men? Could any of them be a killer?"

Hernandez considered this. "I think any of them could be, I guess. Tex is a mean fellow at the best of times. Bud is always smiling and friendly, but he does have a temper when he gets riled up. Like I said, Walt doesn't talk about his past. There's no telling what he could be hiding."

"What about Dave?"

"He's a good fellow and I like him well enough," Hernandez said. "I don't think he would shoot a man in cold blood, but I don't know him well enough to swear that he wouldn't."

That was not welcome news to Nancy, even though she had been thinking the same thing all along. Maybe it would be best to talk to Bess and George's uncle and see what he thought of the men. Granted, Hernandez had been working with all of them just as long as Ed Rawley had, but another perspective couldn't hurt anything.

When they reached the ranch, though, Uncle Ed was still out on the range. Frances hadn't turned up at all since the trial, and Aunt Bet was busying herself in the kitchen. Bess was the only one to meet Nancy and Hernandez when they arrived.

"_Buenas tardes, señorita _Bess," Hernandez greeted her. "_Señorita_ Nancy, do you have any other detective work planned for tonight?"

"Nothing that will take me away from the ranch, Mr. Hernandez," Nancy told him. "Though I may be doing some riding tomorrow."

"Just be sure to tell me before you go," Hernandez said. "The sheriff won't be pleased if I let you leave on your own. I'll take care of your horse."

As he led both the horses away, Nancy and Bess fell into step with one another and began walking toward the vegetable garden.

"Where's George?" Nancy asked. "I hope you two had better luck in learning anything than I did."

"I hope not," Bess replied, "because that would mean that you learned exactly nothing."

Nancy sighed. "It's maybe not that bad, but I still don't feel like I'm very close to knowing anything for certain, or even narrowing down the suspects."

"Well, George said she has some letters to write," Bess told her. "I suspect she just wanted to have some time to herself. I'm worried about her, Nancy."

"Why?" Nancy asked. "She seems like she's doing all right to me."

Bess shook her head. "I'm not so sure. She doesn't want anyone to help her through anything, and nobody could get through what's happened to us by herself. I know I never would have made it without George and Aunt Bet and Uncle Ed. George thinks…"

"Dave Gregory has been paying quite a bit of attention to her lately," Nancy said hesitantly.

Bess didn't seem to notice Nancy's hesitance. "True. That might help her. She's being very…George about it, though. Unless she gets her priorities right, she's going to end up pushing him away, and then she's never going to find another man like that."

"Well, you can't really push someone into something like that until they're ready," Nancy said. "You know, Bess, I wish you'd give me some advice?"

"About boys?" Bess brightened up considerably. "Oh, Nancy, you have no idea how much I've missed talking to you. George doesn't talk about boys anymore than she can help, and Aunt Bet has been married too long to be much fun to talk to about these things, and Alice is too young, and Frances obviously has poor taste in men, if she would even talk to me. I've been absolutely starving for a good, serious conversation about these things."

Nancy smiled. "I'm glad some things haven't changed. Really, though, Bess, I don't know what to do."

"About what?" Bess gave her a critical look. "Nancy Drew, you did sneak out of that party for something else besides just sleuthing, didn't you?"

"No, we didn't," Nancy insisted, sounding more defensive than she meant to. She relaxed a bit and ran a hand through her titian hair. "At least, _I_ didn't. I don't know what Frank was thinking. I was so focused on detective work that the closest I came to thinking about romance was wondering what everyone else would think, or more specifically, what my father would think. And then while were waiting outside Mr. Hamilton's door, I started wondering if, in case Mr. Hamilton suddenly came out and caught us standing there, Frank would try to make it look like we had slipped out to…well, to kiss and such, and that's when I started getting worried."

"Would kissing Frank be such a bad thing?" Bess asked. "I mean, he's terribly handsome and he's interested in the same kind of things as you."

"No, it wouldn't be so bad, if I felt that way about him," Nancy said, "and I don't feel that way about him. At least, I don't think I do, and certainly know that I don't want to."

"Why on earth not?"

Nancy hesitated. "It would change everything. Going to dances and going driving with boys back home doesn't change all that much. Even, eventually, though not any time soon, marrying one of them wouldn't make me have to change absolutely everything in my life. And anyway, I have all the time in the world to decide if I want to marry any of those boys. Frank lives all the way on the East Coast. I only have two choices when it comes to him: either run off and leave behind everything that's familiar and dear to me to marry a man I've never even had a chance to get to know all that well or forget about him in that way. I know you're a romantic, Bess, and you probably don't believe that a person can choose not to fall in love with someone. Maybe you can't. I don't know. But I do know that you can decide what to do about it when you do fall in love, or when you realize that you might, and that sometimes – a lot of times, to be honest – following your heart isn't such a good idea."

"Actually, I do understand that, Nancy, and whether I'm a romantic or not, I agree." Bess smiled ruefully. "To tell you the truth, that's why I decided I'd better find a different dancing partner than Joe and find him quickly. Joe's handsome and nice and fun to be around and one of the last men in the world I want to fall in love with, for all the same reasons you gave about Frank. So I thought I'd better not give myself the chance."

"You were a good deal wiser than I was, then. I just hope I didn't hurt Frank. What I really hope is that he was telling the truth and he doesn't have any feelings for me, either, so that the whole conversation came as more of a relief than anything else." Nancy shook her head. "I still say what I said last night. I'm not ready to feel that way about anyone. I know I'm old enough. There's girls younger than me getting married. I like to think I'd be mature enough, too…I just wish romances didn't tend to get in the way of everything else in your life."

Bess nodded. "They do get in the way, don't they? They get in the way of George's freedom and your mysteries. Romances even get in the way of my idealistic ideas of romance." She giggled. "When I was a little girl, I always imagined meeting a prince who would carry me off to his castle and we'd live happily ever after. It's silly, I know, but I even had a name for him. I called him Romeo. Then I grew up and found out that Romeo wasn't really any kind of prince; just a fifteen-year-old who liked to flirt with just about any girl he came across."

"That's not such a bad metaphor for growing up and learning what love is really like." Nancy picked up the thread of thought. "There's a lot more to love than just falling into it, isn't there? If you're really going to spend the rest of your life with someone, you have to realize that there are a lot of things that aren't going to be so pleasant about it. Maybe George has been right all along when she's said that falling in love wasn't worth it."

Bess considered it for a minute and then she shook her head. "No. I don't think so. Just because a thing isn't always easy doesn't mean it's not worth having. I'm not going to give up on romance."

"Spoken like a true romantic," Nancy said. "I suppose Bud Moore will happy to hear that."

"Oh." Bess bit her lip. "You know, I could use some advice as far as that goes. You see, I like Bud and he's a fine boy and he likes me. But then last night, I met Chuck Chase. He works for Mr. Hamilton. I've never met anyone like him before. He actually wanted to just talk to me and listen to what I had to say and if he wasn't interested in what I was saying then he ought to be an actor because he certainly seemed interested to him. He didn't even act like I'd hurt his pride or anything when I knew about things that he didn't. I know I ought to get to know him better before I make any kind of decisions about him, but I don't like not knowing which of them I like better."

"I'm afraid I can't help you there," Nancy told her. "I'm really hoping no one's going to tell me how I feel, or rather how they think I should feel, about Frank, so I'm not going to try to make those kinds of decisions for anyone else."

"Fair enough," Bess agreed, "although it is good to have someone to talk to about these things, even if you can't give any advice."

NDNDNDNDND

At the same time that Nancy and Bess were talking, the Hardys were setting out on their twilight mission to find the camp of the horse thieves who were holding Iola Morton. Mr. Morton was accompanying them, although they had all insisted that Chet stay home since his broken arm might present a problem if they should run into the outlaws.

Mr. Morton was riding in the lead on Queen with Fenton right behind him, while Frank and Joe brought up the rear, though far enough back that they would have had to speak loudly for the others to hear. None of them were saying much, though, but Frank was saying nothing at all. In fact, he was doing nothing but gnawing at his lower lip.

"You're not still worried about Cousin Ruth and her ranch, are you?" Joe asked him. "I don't really understand what the problem is. Cousin Ruth makes her offer and we thank her but politely decline, and that's all there is to it."

"Not really. If Cousin Ruth really is going to leave the ranch to us in her will, it's just delaying the problem, although hopefully for at least thirty years." Frank bit his lip again. "Actually, though, I wasn't thinking of that. I found out something today that just might solve the whole murder for us."

"That sounds like good news to me. Better news than I've come up with on that score, for sure," Joe said. "Everyone at Crowhead insists that they liked Mason. Even that excitable little fellow, Terry, and Hank, who would probably be willing to start up the Confederate cause again if he could get enough people behind him. What did you find out?"

"Mason was in the War, and he was on the Southern side," Frank told him. "As far as I could learn, though, he didn't do much fighting. He was assigned as a guard at a prison camp."

"Oh, excellent." Joe rubbed his hands together. "Now, all we have to do is find somebody who was held prisoner in that camp, and I'll bet anything that he's our killer."

"I already found someone who lives around who was a prisoner in that camp," Frank said.

"That was fast," Joe replied. "Let me guess: Hamilton. Wait, no. Range Cooper."

Frank shook his head. "No, and keep your voice down. It's not someone I would have suspected. It's James Nickerson."

Joe whistled. "You're right about that being unsuspected. Well, that just brings a whole new suspect into the whole mess."

"Two," Frank reminded him. "There's his son, too."

"The one that got all beat up? He didn't look like a murderer to me."

"And what exactly does a murderer look like?" Frank countered.

"You have a point there," Joe admitted reluctantly. "So, now that they're suspects, we need to figure out a way to either clear them or convict them in the next day. We're not going to get any chances to work on it yet today, after all."

"That's the tricky part," Frank agreed. "Let's make some inquiries about them tomorrow. We'll at least try to find out if either of them have an alibi for Friday."

By this time, they were getting close to the area where the outlaws had their camp, and Fenton warned the boys to be quiet. They made their way forward slowly, and then dismounted to continue on foot when Mr. Morton told them it was only over the next hill. After that, Fenton took the lead.

It was completely dark by then. They crested the hill as stealthily as military scouts, but there were no lights nor sounds of movement or talking in the little valley below. The whole group held still, watching and listening, but there was no sign that there was anyone in the valley.

"I'm going down there to see if I can find anything," Fenton whispered. "The rest of you, stay here."

The others nodded their assent, and Fenton began climbing carefully down the hill. Once, he stepped on a loose stone in the dark and sent it rolling down the hill with a clatter. He paused, but there was still neither sound nor movement below. He felt certain then that no one was there, but he didn't let that lower his caution. He continued forward.

When he reached the bottom, he could see by the pale light of the moon that there was no one camping here. There were no tents or horses, but there were the remains of two different campfires. It looked as if the outlaws had been there but that they had moved on.

Why? And where had they gone? Fenton turned those questions over in his mind as he climbed back up the hill with a grim frown on his face. He was greeted by the eager questions of the boys and Mr. Morton.

"There's no one there," he reported. "It's as if they knew we were coming. Do any of you know how they might have found out?" Although in words the question was addressed to them all, Fenton's eyes were locked on Morton's face, watching for any sign of guilt that the faint light might betray.

Only anguish passed over Morton's face. "They're gone? But how? Why?" He put his hands over his face and his voice caught on unshed tears. "How will we find my daughter now?"

Fenton's doubts about the man were alleviated and he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "We'll still find her. It's just going to be a little harder now."

Frank and Joe exchanged glances. They had a feeling that it was actually going to be a lot harder.


	14. Chapter XIII

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you so much for your patience in having to wait a whole week for this chapter! To tell the truth, I was a little afraid I wouldn't get it out even by Tuesday. Hopefully, this will be the last time I'll have to skip a posting, but life hasn't quite settled down a hundred percent yet. I think I'll be able to post on Friday, but I could be late again. I'll just have to take it one day at a time and see. Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy this story. Thank you for reading, and thank you especially to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Drumboy100, Rose12, drogorath, and Cherylann Rivers!_

**Chapter XIII**

Nancy went to bed late on Wednesday night and lay in bed, trying to think of something that she had missed, some clue that would solve the entire then there, but nothing came to her. Thursday morning dawned after a restless sleep, and Nancy awoke early and went outside.

The cowhands were already up and about for the day, tending to their horses before breakfast. Hernandez spotted Nancy and came over to her to ask her if she was planning to go anywhere that day.

"Probably later," Nancy told him, "but not right now."

"I thought you were still looking for that murderer, even though he's already been caught," Tex Britten said, having overheard the exchange. "You finally come to your senses and learn to leave well enough alone?"

Nancy smiled calmly. "Maybe. Don't you want to know if there's still a murderer around?"

"There could be lots of murderers around," Tex replied in almost an offhand way.

Nancy had to blink at that unexpected response. "What do you mean?"

Tex shrugged. "Anyone could kill a man if he wanted to bad enough."

"I don't agree," Hernandez interjected. "I think most men have enough of a conscience that they couldn't kill no matter how bad they wanted to."

"There's lots of ways fellows get around their consciences," Tex argued. "They tell themselves that some fellow deserves to die or that the law ought to hang him and won't or can't for some reason. Sometimes they even convince themselves the other fellow isn't even really a man if he looks or talks or acts different enough."

By this time, the discussion had attracted the attention of Bud Moore and Walt Sanders who were nearby. They wandered over to listen in on it.

"Maybe," Hernandez allowed, "but his conscience would still get to bothering him."

"But by that argument, there wouldn't be any murderers at all," Bud pointed out. "The fact that there are murderers is a little hard to ignore."

"I don't know." Walt scratched his head. "That depends on what sort of man a body calls a murderer. Men kill each other in war or in self-defense and nobody calls them murderers."

"That's the point," Tex said. "A man's got a right to defend himself and his family and his country. He doesn't have any right to go killing people because he doesn't like the way they look, and he doesn't have any right at all to go killing women or children or old men who can't do him any harm."

"There are other ways to hurt a man besides killing him," Walt replied. "Doesn't he have the right to protect himself against those?"

"Nobody's saying he doesn't, except he doesn't have any right to kill anybody if that person isn't able and trying to kill him and there's no other way to stop him," Hernandez insisted.

"Anyway, that's not the question," Tex said. "The question is whether all men could be murderers or if it takes an especially wicked one to be. I say any man could get to be wicked enough to be a murderer."

Bud leaned against the fence, chewing on a piece of straw. "And why do you think that, Tex?"

"On account of the fact that I've seen it," Tex replied. "One time when I was over in Wyoming, I saw a handful of church-going ranchers band up together and get all liquored up and go out and hunt down some Indian boys who they said were rustling cattle."

"They were drunk, as you said yourself," Hernandez argued.

"Even when they got sobered up, their consciences sure didn't seem to bother 'em too much," Tex insisted. "They said Indians weren't really people and maybe killing them wasn't entirely the right thing to do but it wasn't entirely the wrong thing, either."

"Well, a man does have a right to protect his property," Walt argued.

"There wasn't a one of those over fourteen," Tex protested. "There's no cause to go killing children, ever."

"Fourteen's plenty old enough for them to do some killing themselves, and then what?" Walt said. "You just have to stand there and let it happen on account of their age? Me and a couple of other fellows back in Kansas one time came across an Indian boy, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, who had just finished scalping a nine-year-old white girl. Nine years old! If that wasn't murder, plain and simple, I don't know what is."

"I don't think anyone would say that _isn't_ murder," Bud pointed out. "Both stories kind of tear your theory apart, don't they, Hernandez?"

Hernandez shook his head. "No, and if you'd been listening to what I said you'd realize that. I never said _nobody _could be a murderer; I said _most_ men couldn't."

"And you haven't given a single good reason why not," Tex said.

"It's simple," Hernandez replied. "All men have consciences, and very few can just ignore them."

"But that's what I was saying," Tex insisted. "They find some way to make themselves believe that what they're doing isn't wrong at all so their consciences don't bother them at all."

"Well, now, maybe a fellow could do that when it comes to something like lying or cheating another fellow on a business deal," Hernandez said. "That's easy to do, to tell the truth. But murder's something else again. It's written too deep on a man's heart that it's wrong and about the most serious wrong a man can do."

Walt scoffed. "I wouldn't know about that. The law hangs men every day, and you can't tell me that every man hanged is guilty. Yet nobody ever questions it."

"That's where you're wrong, Sanders," Bud said. "That brings us to the whole heart of the matter. Miss Drew is trying her hardest to make sure that fellow they're going to hang tomorrow really is guilty. That's why she's just been standing here this whole time, not saying anything but listening to everything, isn't it? Mighty clever, Miss Drew, to get us all talking about murders and murderers and then watch us to see if one of us could be the killer."

Nancy smiled wanly. That was exactly what she had been trying to do, and she hadn't expected Bud to see through it so easily. "That would be clever, wouldn't it, Mr. Moore? But between the ranchers and the farmers and the townspeople there are several hundred people around here. Why would I think one of you four would be the murderer?"

Bud pushed his hat back a bit. "Oh, well, there's been a lot of underhandedness going on, probably more that I don't know about, but somehow Shadow Ranch seems to be in the middle of it. There's some scientist fellow that none of us has ever seen wanting to buy a worthless piece of the ranch that everyone all of a sudden seems to want real bad. There's a murder on that very piece of land. Then there's several robberies and it turns out that the fellow what's leading the outlaws is Miss Humber's secret beau. Now, Miss Humber couldn't be the killer without Valentine being involved, so you're probably not too suspicious of her. The idea that Sheriff Humber could be up to anything dishonest is too ridiculous to even consider. I figure you're not too suspicious of Mr. Rawley, on account of him being the uncle of your friends and them being able to vouch for him. The same with Mrs. Rawley. Now, Shorty never did anything in his life except by accident or for money, and never anything that took too much work, so I couldn't very well see him killing a man. You've taken Dave into your confidence, so you must be convinced it's not him. The way I figure it, and the way I figure you figure it, is that if Valentine didn't kill Chris Mason, then the man who did is one of us four here."

Nancy and the other three cowboys were taken aback. Nancy hadn't expected anyone else besides herself and her friends to question the judgment of the circuit court, much less to have narrowed down the suspects so much.

"That's an interesting theory," she managed to say.

"Is that true?" Tex demanded. "Do you think one of us here is a killer?"

Nancy wasn't sure what to say. She realized that there wasn't anything she could say without revealing the truth at least unintentionally, so she said, "Yes. I think it's possible."

"Well, who is then?" Hernandez eyed his companions uncertainly.

"Maybe it's Bud," Walt said. "He seems even more sure of himself than Miss Drew. Maybe he's got a guilty conscience and he thinks Miss Drew has figured it out and he's trying to throw her suspicion onto all of us."

"I know I'm no murderer," Bud replied.

"Can you prove it?" Tex asked.

"No, and neither can any of the rest of you," Bud said. "We were all riding range that night. Not a one of us has anybody to vouch for us."

"Hold on!" Nancy broke in. "I didn't say it was definitely one of you. I said it was possible. It's just as possible that it was somebody not connected with Shadow Ranch at all."

"Maybe so," Hernandez said, "but I'm not going to just start working like it's any other day, thinking one of you three might have killed a man."

"Unless you're the one who killed Mason," Walt replied. "All your talk about consciences and so forth could just be to throw Miss Drew off your track."

"Let's have it out right now," Tex said. "Did any of you know Mason?"

"No," the other three all said at once.

Then Bud added, "We could all easily be lying."

"That sounds like the sort of thing a liar would say," Walt said.

Bud grinned. "I might not have exactly earned myself a halo, but it doesn't take a fellow with horns to realize another fellow might lie to keep his neck out of a noose."

"We're not going to get anywhere this way," Nancy said suddenly. "Just go back to work and don't do anything rash. There's a good chance none of you are the murderer."

Nancy hurried away, eager to escape the conversation that had taken a drastic turn. She found her heart pumping with excitement. She had watched and listened to them carefully, and while she was fairly sure she could trust three of them, the fourth had stood out as someone she would have to watch. If only she had more time!

She would simply have to make the most out of the time she had. If she was right, and if the murderer was practically in her grasp, she would simply have to find a way to prove it by tomorrow. She rushed into the house and woke up Bess and George, who were still asleep.

"Ugh, Nancy, do we have to work on the mystery this early in the morning?" Bess groaned, putting her pillow over her head.

Nancy had had the foresight to awaken George first, and George had followed her into Bess's room. Now she ripped the pillow from her cousin's grasp. "It's after sunrise," she told her. "That means we've got less than twenty-four hours to solve the mystery. If Nancy has an idea, we'd better get to work on it right away."

"Oh, all right." Bess sat up reluctantly. "What's your idea, Nancy?"

"I think one of the cowhands here is the murderer," Nancy announced.

"Who?" Bess and George asked together, Bess's sleepiness suddenly leaving her.

Nancy started to say, but then she stopped herself. It wouldn't be fair to defame the man based on a hunch if she didn't have to. "I want to get some evidence first, or at least try to. The men keep all their belongings in the bunk house, right? If we went in there and looked through their things…"

"Uh, no," Bess interrupted. "What if the murderer catches us then?"

"They'll all be leaving soon to work," Nancy said. "We'll wait till they're gone. No one will catch us. Anyway, if I'm right, the murderer already knows that I suspect one of the cowhands. He'll be jumpy anyway."

"How did he find that out?" George asked.

"By Bud Moore being both smarter than I expected and not as smart as I might have hoped," Nancy replied. "He thought it out much the same way as I had and then went and said it in front of all the others."

"Oh, all right, then, I'll go along with," Bess said reluctantly. "If the murderer suspects that we – or at least Nancy – know who he is, we'd better catch him as soon as possible before he tries to escape or kill us."

Close to an hour later, after the cowhands had ridden away, the girls slipped unnoticed into the bunk house. They had no idea whose things were whose, so they had to simply go through everyone's. None of the cowhands seemed to have much, and so it didn't take long to complete the task.

"Nothing," Nancy announced with disappointment when they had finished. "I'd hoped to find something, at least."

"Maybe, if the murderer was already suspicious, he already destroyed any evidence he had, or at least is carrying it with him," George said.

"Probably," Nancy admitted.

"Well, in that case, we'll never get our hands on it before tomorrow morning," Bess said. "What do we do now?"

Nancy hesitated. She hated to feel so much at a loss in a mystery, especially when there was a man's life hanging in the balance. There had to be some way…

She was spared the necessity of answering Bess's question right away by the sound of Sheriff Humber shouting, "Frances! Frances, where do you think you're going?"

The girls glanced at one another and then silently gathered by the window to watch and listen. Frances was seated on the back of her horse in front of the stable, and her father had just hurried forward and grabbed hold of the horse's reins. Frances was trying to jerk them from his grasp.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted back. "What difference does it make to you? It's a little late to start pretending to care about me."

"Frances," Humber began in a much calmer voice, "just try to understand. I have a duty."

"A duty to help kill an innocent man?" Frances burst out. "You know as well as I do that Dirk never killed anyone in his life. You're always talking about justice and so forth. If you really care two sticks about justice, you'd let him go, no matter what that judge says."

"I don't know anything of the kind," Humber insisted. "Valentine was found guilty. I can't subvert justice just because of my own personal feelings."

Frances scoffed. "That's exactly what you are doing. You know Dirk's innocent, but you want to see him hanged just because he's not a rancher or something respectable like that. Well, I don't care about that. He's a better man than any of the 'respectable' people I've met, and I love him. I'd help him escape if I could, but I can't, so I'm going to at least spend his last day with him."

"Curtis knows not to let you in," Humber told her.

"Then I'll stand outside his window and talk to him there," Frances said. "I'll stand out there all day if I have to. You can't stop me. Even you're not that cruel."

Humber sighed and let go of the reins. "All right. I won't try to stop you. And, Frances, I really am sorry that it has to be like this."

"If you were sorry, you would stop it." Frances dug her heels into her horse's sides and it sprang away.

Humber turned away slowly and passed his hand over his eyes.

NDNDNDNDND

The minutes and hours ticked by with both an interminable slowness and a disconcerting speed. Nancy felt numb and useless and all she could do was hope and pray that the Hardys were having better luck than she was.

As evening was coming on, she slipped away from the house, saddled her horse, and rode into town. Sheriff Humber had already gone into town and announced that he would stay there all night to guard the prisoner. Nancy knew that she didn't have the evidence to prove anything, but she wanted to talk to Humber one last time and see if there wasn't anything that could be done.

It was dark by the time she arrived in town and tied her horse in front of the sheriff's office. She was surprised to see that Frances's horse was nowhere in evidence. When she entered the office, she found Humber sitting with his head in his hands at his desk and Dirk lying on his back on the bunk in his cell. No one else was there. Humber looked up as Nancy entered.

"Miss Drew, what are you doing here?" Humber asked, and Nancy thought she detected a slight tremor of hope in his voice.

"I wanted to tell you what I found out today," Nancy said. "It isn't much, but…"

"Where's Hernandez?" Humber interrupted. "He's not supposed to let you go anywhere alone."

"He's back at the ranch," Nancy told him. "It's not his fault. I slipped away. He didn't know anything about it. I wanted to talk to you alone. I really don't think that Dirk is the murderer."

"I know, Miss Drew," Humber said. "But it doesn't matter. Unless you've gotten evidence that you didn't have at the trial – I mean real evidence, not suspicions or ideas – my hands are tied. You just have to let it go."

Dirk sat up. "I'd like to talk to Miss Drew for a minute, if I can, Sheriff. I have something to tell her that might interest her."

"If you have anything to say, you can say it loud enough for us all to hear," Humber told him.

Dirk shook his head. "It's something personal that I'd rather not have you overhear. It's nothing that will prove anything one way or another."

"I don't see how you could have anything personal to say to me," Nancy said.

"I've seen how hard you've been trying to get me off," Dirk replied. "I thought you might have enough pity about you to deliver a message for me. A last request of a man with less than ten hours left to live."

Nancy glanced at Sheriff Humber, but she couldn't very well refuse that. She approached the cell, but didn't get too close. "What is it?"

"Closer." Dirk stood up and came right to the bars of the cell himself. "I want to whisper it. I don't want the sheriff there to overhear."

Nancy didn't like it, but she stepped right up to the door. All at once, Dirk grabbed her arm with one hand and produced a gun out of his shirt with the other which he pressed into Nancy's side. "Here's my message, Miss Drew: I've seen how hard you've been trying to get me out – or how hard you've been pretending to try. Of course, neither you nor your father really lifted a finger to help me. You just did enough to ease your own consciences. People like you make me sick. Pretending to be better than everyone else because you can keep your own dainty hands clean. You're both going to learn a hard lesson this time. Now, Sheriff, if you don't want Miss Drew's blood on your head, too, you'd best take off that gun belt and set it on your desk. Then you'd better get that key out of that safe and bring it over here."

Humber slowly complied. "This isn't going to do you any good, Valentine. You might get out of this jail, but you'll never get out of the territory alive. You'll only buy yourself another day or two."

"Another day or two is worth the price to a man who will be dead in the morning otherwise," Dirk argued. "I'd rather be shot escaping with a chance of living than hang."

Humber bent down and began opening the safe that held the key to Dirk's cell.

"What will Frances think when she find out about this?" Nancy asked.

"She already knows," Dirk said. "Who else do you think could have or would have smuggling a gun in here to me? Now, you keep quiet. If I hear another sound out of you, even if it's just a whimper, I'll blow your pretty head off."

Nancy swallowed hard, but she didn't say another word. Humber held up the key.

"Unlock the door," Dirk order him, "and then stand back."

Humber did as he was told. Dirk exited the cell, but to do so, he was obliged to let go of Nancy for a few seconds. She was half-tempted to make a dash for it, but she realized that she could never make it. Her only chance to survive – such as it was – was to do exactly as she was told.

Once Dirk was out of the cell, he wrapped one arm around Nancy's neck and used his other hand to press the gun against her head. "All right, sheriff. Into the cell."

Humber went inside. Then Dirk ordered him to give the key to Nancy and for Nancy to lock the cell and then throw the key into the corner. Then he began pushing Nancy toward the door.

"Leave her here with me," Humber said. "A hostage is only going to slow you down. And if you leave her here, I'll give you a head start. I won't send any men after you until morning. That's the best chance you're going to get to get away."

"You're promises aren't worth a dime to me," Dirk replied. "The best I'll ask for is for you not to start yelling your head off until I've had a chance to get out of town, and the only way that's going to happen is if I bring Miss Drew with me. Besides, I've got a score to settle with both her and her father."


	15. Chapter XIV

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you so much for continuing to read! Thank you especially to everyone who has left reviews since the last chapter: Drumboy100, Rose12, and angelicalkiss! And yes, I know I left off on a cliffhanger. I just couldn't resist. ;)_

**Chapter XIV**

It was late Thursday evening when Frank and Joe came riding into Dry Creek. They had intended to spend the day working on the murder case, but the Mortons had been so distraught when Iola hadn't been found the night before that the Hardys felt that they had to look for her instead, at least during the morning. That had mostly involved trying to follow the tracks of the men as they had left their camp. It had taken much longer than they had expected, and their time had just about worn out before they reached Dry Creek.

Their plan had been to go straight to the sheriff's office and find out if there was any news, but they had only just tied their horses in front next to a bay that was waiting patiently, when Frank spotted a figure down the street and nudged Joe. It was Ned Nickerson riding a horse down the street.

"You know," Joe said, not making any particular effort to be quiet, "I broke a couple of ribs that time when I got pushed down that staircase, you remember, and I don't think I was riding horses four days later."

"The broken ribs are real enough, unless that doctor doesn't know what he's talking about," Frank replied. "It must be something important to get him into town anyway."

"Do you really think he's that great of a suspect?" Joe asked. "He does have motive, I'll admit, and he's the only person we've found with motive, but I can't really see someone who has the gall to shoot an unarmed man at point-blank range allowing himself to get beaten almost to death two days later."

"He might know something about it, anyway," Frank said. "We might as well see what we can learn."

Fortunately, Ned was riding in their general direction, and so all they had to do was call a casual greeting to him as he rode past. He stopped and looked at them questioningly for a moment, but then recognition passed over his face.

"'Evening," he replied. "Aren't you those two fellows who were at the bank on Sunday? That detective's sons?"

"That's right," Frank said. "I'm Frank Hardy and this is my brother Joe. You're that newspaper fellow. Ned Nickerson, right?" He might as well pretend not to be terribly interested in who Ned was. If Ned really was involved in the murder, it would be best to keep his suspicions from being aroused."

"We heard what happened to you," Joe said, and then realizing what Frank was trying to do, added, "I mean, I think everyone in town did. I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

"Well, I've been worse," Ned answered, though it seemed to be an effort to keep his voice from wavering.

"Are you sure you should be up and riding around?" Joe asked.

"No." Ned smiled slightly. "Actually, I'm sure I shouldn't be."

"Then why are you?" Joe pressed.

Ned sighed. "This is only the time of day when the heat is even bearable, but it's still hot enough to fry cornbread in our house, so I figured I'd come out and go for a ride."

"Cornbread?" Joe repeated. "Are you from the South?"

"No, but I've spent a fair amount of time there," Ned replied. "I've spent time just about everywhere in the U.S."

"What are your thoughts on the South, anyway?" Joe asked casually.

Frank could have kicked him, but he didn't see any point in making it completely obvious to Ned that Joe had said the wrong thing. Maybe Ned wouldn't notice.

Ned gave a slightly confused half-smile. "What do you mean? What should I think about the South? Do you mean about the War, and whether they're treacherous rebels or defeated patriots?"

"Why would they be patriots?" Joe asked.

"To the Confederate States, I mean," Ned replied. "They saw themselves as fighting for their freedom just as much as in the American Revolution. I don't think I agree with them on that, but I don't think they were entirely wrong, either. If we had been fighting over the morality or immorality of slavery, like many Northerners paint the picture, then it would be simple enough to answer, but it was more about who should have the right to decide whether slavery ought to be legal or illegal, as if the morality of it shouldn't matter to the legality. You see, when you start getting into debating over legal versus illegal rather than moral versus immoral, you always put yourself in danger of saying one person's right are more important than another's, which always leads to one person's so-called 'rights' being enshrined and virtually undebateable – such as a white man's supposed 'right' to own slaves – and another person's basic, human rights being trampled into the dust – such as a black man's right to be free. It's, of course, nonsense because any 'right' to own slaves is made up and given by the State, whereas our nation has always, formally at least, maintained that the rights to life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness were given us by the Creator, and therefore the State can't meddle with those."

"So, the South was completely wrong and grossly immoral in your opinion," Joe concluded with a significant glance at Frank.

"No," Ned replied. "Slavery is completely wrong and grossly immoral, but the South and many of the individuals on the South's side were basically fighting for the individual states to have more power than the federal government. Their pet cause, slavery, doesn't win them any particular favor from me, but the rest of it was a good point. Besides, there were many good and honorable men fighting for the Southern cause who didn't believe in slavery any more than I do, including some black men."

"So whose side are you on?" Joe asked.

"The War's over," Ned reminded him, "and we're all Americans again, and I hope we stay that way for a long time. I don't think there's any point in debating it over and over again _ad perpetuam_. I think it's best to own that neither side was entirely right or entirely wrong, to honor those on both sides who were honorable, to forgive those on both sides who were not, and to carry the lessons that we've learned from it forward in hopes that nothing like this will ever happen again."

"What lessons?" Joe asked. He was rapidly forgetting to ask questions that were relevant to the case.

"Oh, that people who are good in almost every other way can still do incredibly evil things, and that we must be careful not to assume that something is moral just because it's legal, that fighting for our rights is essential but that starting a new country every time we disagree with the old one might not be the best way of handling it, and most of all that, because we allowed something as evil as slavery to be enshrined in law, our entire country was nearly torn in half and I doubt the wounds will heal for a long time to come, so we must be vigilant never to allow such an evil to grow so much again."

"You have a very neutral view of something that happened so recently," Frank observed.

"I don't think I have a neutral view," Ned replied, almost indignantly. "A neutral view would mean that I don't care one way or another. I do care. I just think it's important to be fair and not completely villainize an entire half of the population of our country. That's the sort of thing that has led to the South being, well, a mess thanks to the policies the federal government has enacted towards it. Anyway, that's what my father always, even during the War. He was a war correspondent, you know, so it was important for him to be fair."

"But I thought your father was taken prisoner during the War," Joe protested.

"How did you know that?" Ned replied.

Joe glanced at Frank, realizing that he had made a mistake. Before either of them could form a diplomatic answer, they were interrupted by a shout from inside the sheriff's office.

"Here! Is someone out there? Let me out of here!"

Frank and Joe recognized the voice as being none other than Sheriff Humber's, and they rushed inside. Ned followed more slowly, as he had to gingerly dismount his horse, which was an unpleasant business with his injuries.

It only took the Hardys a moment to assess the situation. Humber was looked in his own jail and Dirk was gone. Clearly, Dirk had escaped somehow.

"The key is over in that corner." Humber pointed it out.

Joe went to retrieve it and hastily unlocked the door to the cell.

"What happened?" Frank asked.

"Valentine got a gun smuggled in here," Humber told them with a bitter ring in his voice. "He took Miss Drew hostage. We've got to get some men together and go after them."

"You've got two right here," Frank offered immediately.

"Three," Ned added from the doorway.

"Aren't you still supposed to be in bed?" Humber asked him.

"I can ride a horse, sir, and I'm not staying here if I can help," Ned replied.

It crossed Humber's mind to tell Ned that, in his condition, he might be more hindrance than help, but he bit his tongue. He could see that Ned wouldn't be convinced without a lengthy argument, and there was no time for that.

"All right," he said. "Then come with me to gather up some men. Valentine will have headed toward my ranch, I think, since he'll want to meet Frances. We can get my hands to help."

"It wouldn't be too out of the way to round up some of the Crowhead men or the Hamilton ones," Joe told him. "Frank and I can ride out to each of those ranches."

"Okay," Humber agreed. "We'll meet at Shadow Mountain. Since Valentine probably wouldn't have the gall to ride right up to my ranch, he and Frances might have used that as a meeting place."

NDNDNDNDND

"Easy, Phantom," Valentine said in a low voice, much gentler than a man who was currently sticking a gun into the ribs of a hostage shoulder have been able to manage. He stroked his horse's neck with his free hand as he went on. "Just keep walking, boy. That's right. Being in a hurry's not going to help us right now. Just keep walking nice and slow and easy and quiet."

Nancy was doubting all her previous convictions that Dirk wasn't a murderer and she had taken his warning to be quiet to heart. Even so, keeping herself from being shot on purpose wouldn't be much comfort if she ended up being shot by accident. Finally, when they were well out of town, she dared to say, "Mr. Valentine, please, your gun might go off by accident, holding it like that on horseback."

"I told you to be quiet," Dirk warned her harshly. Then he relented. "I guess you've got a point. It would be a real shame for you to get off that easy." He holstered the gun. "You can scream your head off out here and no help will come, at least not before I can get my gun back out. You understand?"

Nancy nodded. She was already breathing a little easier.

Dirk's white horse had been tied up, already saddled, behind the livery stable where it was supposed to be kept. No doubt, that was Frances' work, Nancy decided. Dirk had forced her to sit in front of him on the horn with both her legs on the same side of the horse. That left her uncomfortable and unbalanced enough that she had no choice but to lean against one of his shoulders while he held onto her and the gun with both hands. The horse didn't seem to need anyone holding its reins. It was intensely unpleasant for Nancy, but she took some small comfort from the fact that Dirk didn't seem to be taking any pleasure from the situation either.

"What are you going to do with me?" she ventured to ask after a few more minutes, but Dirk didn't answer.

It must have been past midnight when they finally stopped. Nancy wasn't familiar enough with the area to know where she was other than that they had headed in the general direction of Shadow Mountain. Instead of stopping there, though, they had stopped in the bottom of some gully.

Dirk roughly pulled Nancy down from the horse. Then he roughly pushed her against the side of the canyon and told her to stay there. He turned to his horse and began unsaddling it.

Nancy thought about trying to make a dash for it in the dark while Dirk was distracted by taking care of his horse. She could probably make it without being shot, but she realized that being lost in the desert alone with no water and no horse would be just as dangerous as remaining with Dirk. She slowly sat down with her back against the rough stone wall.

Once Dirk had finished tending to his horse, he stood in front of Nancy, but not facing her. She could see that he had his arms folding and she wondered what he was planning. She shivered. Maybe it was better not to know.

After a few minutes, they heard the clatter of hooves approaching. Dirk crouched next to Nancy and put a hand over her mouth. However, even if Nancy had called for help, it wouldn't have done any good.

"Dirk? You there?" one of the riders called in a low voice.

Dirk relaxed. "It's about time, Al. Where's Frances?"

"I'm right here," Frances replied.

Nancy could make out the outline of Frances climbing down from her horse and throwing herself in Dirk's arms. Two men were accompanying her, and though Nancy couldn't see anything of them but an outline, she guessed that they were the other two outlaws. Then one of them lit a lantern, and Nancy could see the whole group.

Frances spotted Nancy at the same time. "Dirk, why did you bring her here?"

"So we can kill her before she can testify against any of the rest of us," one of the outlaws answered for his leader.

Frances' face paled. "You wouldn't, Dirk. You're not a killer."

"It's part of the deal," the other outlaw said. "We're not taking any chances on our necks winding up in a noose."

Now that Nancy knew their plan, she realized there wasn't anything more to gain by being silent. She might as well say exactly what was on her mind. "I was trying to help you, Valentine. We all were. Even Sheriff Humber…"

"Shut up!" Dirk shouted at her. Although Nancy didn't wince, Frances did. Dirk didn't seem to notice. "Just shut up! I don't want to hear anything more about how you or your father or Humber were trying to help keep me from hanging. You think I'd rather spend the rest of my life in jail? Anyway, if you really felt so strongly that I didn't deserve to hang, you could have helped me escape. That would have actually been helping me. As for your father…" He scoffed. "Your father is the one person who might have kept me from being sentenced in the first place, but he wouldn't. You're not going to convince me that he was trying to do anything except keep his own conscience quiet."

"He would have represented you if he had known how badly that lawyer was going to do," Nancy told him. "He had made up his mind that he would, but Mr. Elwood seemed like a competent lawyer."

Dirk spat. "You expect me to believe that?"

"There's no use arguing with her, Dirk," the outlaw whom he had address as Al said. "Let's just kill her, split up the money, and get out of here before that sheriff gets here with his posse."

"You're going to have to do it, Dirk," the other outlaw added.

"I know, Sid." Dirk slowly drew his gun out of his holster.

Frances put her hand over his to stop. "You don't have to do this, Dirk. Please don't. You've never killed anyone before. Have you?" Her voice quavered on the last two words as doubt suddenly overshadowed her mind.

"He's got to," Sid told her. "If we can testify to him murdering this girl, we'll know he can't double cross us. That's our agreement. It's the girl or him."

"I don't have any choice, Frances." He yanked his hand from her grasp. He held up the revolver and aimed it at Nancy.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as Nancy watched the light from the lantern glint off the muzzle of the gun. It loomed as large as a cannon in front of her. Dirk cocked the hammer back, and Nancy closed her eyes. She tried to pray, but she could form no more coherent thoughts than _Please, God, please!_


	16. Chapter XV

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read! Thank you especially to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter: angelicalkiss, Drumboy100, Rose12, Rachael, and Cherylann Rivers! I know, I know. This ends in another cliffhanger. It's my favorite way to end a chapter, if you haven't guessed already. ;)_

**Chapter XV**

Bess was pacing back and forth across the length of the living room of the Shadow Ranch house while George watched her in bemused fascination. Nancy had ridden off somewhere, but they weren't particularly worried about her. She could take care of herself, even if she had given Hernandez the slip and was by herself.

Suddenly, Bess clapped her hands together. "I've got it! I know how we can prove it."

"I can't wait to hear," George replied, ever-so-slightly sarcastically. She didn't have the utmost confidence in Bess's plotting abilities.

"It's really very simple," Bess said. "All we do is get Dave – you know, so it won't be quite so easy for the killer to come after _us_ – then we go outside and start talking loudly about the case and how we know who the murderer is. He'll over hear and try to run, and then Dave can grab him."

"Bess, it's almost midnight," George reminded her. "He'll know it's a trap and will sit tight and then it won't prove anything."

Bess frowned and sat down next to her. "Well, we're running out of time. The sun rises at about six, so that only leaves about six hours."

All at once, the outside door was flung open and both girls jumped. Sheriff Humber rushed in.

"Is Frances here?" he asked.

"I haven't seen Frances since she left earlier today," George replied. "What's going on?"

Humber muttered a curse under his breath. "Where's your uncle? And Mr. Drew?"

"Everyone's in bed except us," Bess explained, and Humber rushed off toward the wing of the house where the bedrooms were.

Bess and George exchanged glances and debated whether to follow him, but at that moment, Ned Nickerson came panting up to the door. His face was pale and he had one arm clamped over his chest. Clearly, the quick ride all the way from town hadn't done him any good.

Bess sprang to her feet and hurried forward to help. "Why, Mr. Nickerson, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be resting?"

"I'm fine," Ned told her, trying to stand up straighter. Sheriff Humber had ridden back from town at the fastest pace his horse could take, and Ned had known he had to keep him in sight if he didn't want to be left behind on the rescue mission. The incessant bumping and jolting had irritated his only partially healed ribs, and he was starting to think maybe he would have been better off staying behind after all. He drew in a shaky breath. No, he had to help Nancy if he could.

"Come and sit down, at least," Bess tried to encourage him.

"No time," Ned replied. He had to take his next breath slowly to keep from hurting his ribs. "Valentine escaped. Has Miss Drew. Have to go after them."

"What?" George burst out, hastening forward now herself. "What are talking about? How did that happen?"

Ned panted a few more times and would have explained further, but then Sheriff Humber came rushing out, closely followed by Carson Drew and Ed Rawley, who had obviously taken very little time to rouse. Aunt Bet and Alice followed them, and Humber was rapidly explaining the situation.

"Let's not waste any time," Carson urged them.

"I sent those Hardy boys to gather up men from Crowhead and Hamilton Ranch," Humber explained. "We'll meet them at the base of Shadow Mountain. Ed, go get the men. If you want to come, Mr. Drew, you're more than welcome, of course."

"Certainly, I want to come," Carson said. "I'll start saddling horses."

"We'll come, too," George offered.

"Absolutely not," Humber told her. "You women stay here and look after Nickerson."

"I'm coming," Ned protested.

"No, you're not," Humber said. "You'll be more help staying here and not getting in the way."

He hurried back outside without giving either Ned or George another chance to argue. George started after him, but Bess caught her arm.

"You can't help, George," she told her. "Sheriff Humber has all the men he needs."

"That's the problem." George yanked her arm away. "Don't forget who one of his men is." She ran outside and waved one arm. "Wait! Sheriff Humber! Did you talk to Nancy?"

Humber was at the stable, hastily saddling horses. He handed one saddle to her. "You can help now if you're going to insist on it, but you're staying here, and there's an end to it."

"All right," George replied, turning to find a horse to set the saddle on. "Did Nancy tell you about the murderer? She's pretty sure she knows who he is."

"That'll have to wait," Humber said.

At that moment, the cowhands arrived. They hastily grabbed the reins of the horses that were already saddled or finished saddling those that weren't.

"But…" George tried to protest, but she was cut off by the sudden swarm of cowboys. She looked around desperately for someone who would listen, preferably Dave, but he was already outside with his horse. The entire group set out in record time, leaving George behind with her revelation untold.

She trudged back into the house. Aunt Bet, Bess, and Alice had persuaded Ned to sit down, and then Aunt Bet had gone to check on Ross Regor and make sure that the ruckus wasn't causing him any undue worry, considering how much more recovering he needed to do.

"Did you tell him?" Bess asked.

"I didn't get the chance," George replied. "They've already gone, and _he's_ gone with them."

"Who?" Ned asked.

"The real murderer," George told him. "Nancy's almost certain that it's one of the cowhands. She even has a pretty good idea which, but even if she's wrong about which one specifically it is, he's in the rescue party."

"We've got to go after them then." Ned began to stand up.

"Not you." Bess pushed him back down. "You need to stay here and rest."

"This is serious," George said. "I'm going after them. Come on, Bess."

"Are you sure that's such a great idea?" Bess asked. "Surely the killer's not actually going to do anything."

"I'll go with you," Alice offered suddenly.

"Anyone can come with me who wants to," George replied, showing more courage than good sense.

"Then I'm going with you," Ned said, giving Bess a glance that as much as dared her to try to stop him.

The other three headed for the door, and Bess wavered for a moment. Then she gave in, even though every ounce of common sense in her body was telling her that their chances of doing anyone any good were practically nonexistent and their chances of getting into trouble were high.

They saddled up four horses – Ned felt that a fresh mount would be a better idea than taking his already exhausted horse – and then they set out. It was too dark to see very far ahead of them at all, and they had to travel at a much slower pace than any of them liked. George, however, had a good head for directions, and she was sure that they were headed toward Shadow Mountain.

NDNDNDNDND

The first party to reach the rendezvous point was the party from Crowhead Ranch, which Joe had gathered up. The foreman, Hank, had grumbled about going out so late to track down the outlaw, and Joe had been a little afraid that he would convince the rest of the cowhands that there was nothing they would be able to do until morning. Pymatuno, however, had spoken up and said that he thought he could follow the trail, even in the dark, as long as they brought lanterns along, and that had evidently been good enough for the other men.

They had only been there a few minutes before Sheriff Humber arrived with the Shadow Ranch men. They waited a little longer, and then Frank arrived with a handful of men from the Hamilton Ranch, including Pop Hamilton himself, Chuck Chase, and Range Cooper.

Humber stood up in his stirrups. "Now here's the plan, everyone. We know Valentine has used Shadow Mountain as a meeting place before, so I want half the men to head up there. Rawley, you lead them. The rest of us will fan out with lanterns and see if we can pick up any trail. I want anyone who's particularly good at tracking to be part of that group."

Carson listened tight-lipped. The logical part of him knew that Humber and the other men were moving incredibly fast, but the predominant part of him that was a father whose daughter was in the hands of a desperate criminal chafed at every second's delay. It seemed a long shot to actually pick up Valentine's trail at this point, without going all the way back to town. For that matter, it was a long shot that Valentine would have come back to an area where he had been known to be at all. Even so, it was slightly better than the other chance.

"I'll go up the mountain," he offered.

Humber drew him aside and told him in a low voice, "I'd like it better if you stayed back with me. Valentine indicated that he wanted to get even with you. He could have just meant by taking Nancy, but I wouldn't put all my money on that."

Carson did his best to remain calm. He really didn't need a reminder right now that this was very likely his fault. As for whether Valentine would be gunning for him as well, why would he even care about that right now? "Maybe, but it doesn't matter. All I want right now is to get my daughter back safe."

"I know," Humber replied. "Believe me, I know."

The Hardys decided to try to pick up the trail in the valley along with the sheriff, as did Pymatuno and a few of the other cowboys. Then the rest headed up to the cliff houses where Valentine had been captured once before, with Dave Gregory leading the way since he knew the exact spot. It was still and empty when they arrived. If Valentine had been there, he was gone now.

Carson drew in a long, shaking breath. If Valentine had taken Nancy in a ploy for revenge before he escaped out of the territory, the only chance they had had of finding Nancy safely had been in speed, and they had lost that chance now.

NDNDNDNDND

The last seconds before eternity ticked by so slowly that Nancy could almost believe that eternity had already begun. Even her fear had time to cool, and she was able to formulate a more coherent mental prayer as she opened her eyes once more. The scene hadn't changed. Dirk still stood before her with his gun leveled straight at her, while the two other outlaws – Sid and Al – stood to one side and Frances, with a white face, stood to the other.

The air felt charged with electricity in the tension of the moment, as if there was a thunderstorm brewing. Nancy almost wished Dirk would just pull the trigger and get it over with.

"Please, Dirk," Frances spoke up in a strange and hollow voice, "don't do this. I know you're a better man than this. Dirk, I beg you, if you ever loved me…"

Al scoffed. "If he ever loved you? You're a bigger fool than even I thought. Your precious Dirk never loved you. You were never anything more to him than a means to an end. You could warn us about what your daddy was up to and help us keep out of his way. As for whether he loved you or not, if he did, don't you think he would have taken you away from here by now like you've been begging him?"

Nancy hadn't thought it would be possible for Frances' face to lose any more color, but it did. She looked as if she was going to faint. Her jaw opened and closed several times wordlessly and then she asked in a whisper, "Dirk, is it true?"

Dirk's face tightened, but he didn't say a word. That reply told volumes more than any spoken response could have.

A tear rolled down Frances' cheek, glinting in the light of the lantern. Then she turned and ran off on foot, not even bothering to grab her horse.

"Go after her, Sid," Al ordered. "We can't risk her getting away."

Sid sprang into his saddle and took off after her. Then Al turned to Dirk.

"As for you, I knew you didn't have it in you. You might be smart, but you're too soft. Always have been." Suddenly, Al pulled his gun from his holster and pointed it at Dirk's head. "Either you kill her now, or I'll kill you both."

Dirk lowered his gun and turned to face Al. "I don't do anything with a gun at my head. I just didn't want Frances to see this. I thought she might still be useful, but you pretty well ruined that. So you take that gun away or Sid and me will be splitting the money two ways instead of three."

Al wavered, and Nancy wondered what was passing through his mind. He clearly had the upper hand of the situation, and so Dirk's threat shouldn't have meant anything to him. Nancy had gathered that Dirk was the brains of the outfit. Perhaps Al realized that he and Sid wouldn't be able to get away without them and his threat had been nothing more than a bluff. Now that Dirk had called it, Al wasn't willing to go through with it.

Before the men could settle their disagreement, there was a clatter of hooves approaching. It couldn't have been less than a dozen horses, and Nancy's heart leaped with hope. Maybe her rescue was at hand.

However, when the men rode into the light of the lantern, Nancy didn't recognize any of their faces except for Sid's. Worse still, he didn't seem to be a prisoner and was riding at the head of the company, together with a tall and important man who could not have been anyone but the leader of the group.

"What's this, Valentine? A mutiny?" the tall man asked.

"A misunderstanding, Morgan." Dirk flicked Al's gun hand away, and Al reluctantly holstered the weapon.

_Morgan!_ Nancy thought. That was the name of the mysterious would-be purchaser of the land with the cliff houses. This man certainly didn't look like an archaeologist, and the rest of his company weren't at all how a company of scientists might be expected to look. Moreover, if they were on such familiar terms with Dirk and his two companions, their business could hardly be legitimate.

"What happened to Frances?" Dirk asked Sid.

The outlaw shrugged. "She slipped away in the dark. I couldn't make out anything about where she went."

Dirk muttered under his breath, and apart from a few dirty words, all Nancy could make out was, "Should have known he was too stupid…"

Morgan brushed away the difficulty lightly. "I doubt the girl can get back to her father's ranch on foot, and whether she does or not, you're taking a risk standing around here, Valentine. Let's settle between us and then you be on your way. No offense, but I don't want to see your face again."

"I don't much want to see yours either, and I don't care if that offends you," Dirk replied. "Besides, I thought we were even."

"Well, now," Morgan said, "it seems to me that you telling me about where I could find a handsome strike of gold and buy the land at far less than its real value in exchange for a couple of horses would be a fair trade. However, you tipped the scale in your favor a bit when you shot that fellow and made Shadow Mountain too hot for any of us."

"I didn't kill that man," Dirk insisted. "I thought you did."

Morgan scoffed. "Now why would I do something like that?"

"The way I figured it, he was poking around here for some reason. I don't know, maybe he was trying to find out why you were so interested in that piece of land. He rode that little ravine, his horse tripped and broke its leg, and he had to shoot it. Then he found your stash of stolen horses, took one and was headed out to the Hamilton Ranch to tell Old Man Hamilton. Then you caught up with him and made sure he didn't."

"I didn't kill him, and neither did any of my boys," Morgan said. "For one thing, we would have had the sense to dump the body somewhere where it wouldn't be bringing down the sheriff and all these fancy Eastern detectives on our heads. Anyway, Valentine, I understand you have quite a pretty sum of money saved up from all your – shall we say, business – since you've been in this area. I think a fourth of it would be a fair amount to make up for the trouble you've caused me."

"A fourth?" Dirk shook his head in disbelief. "I'm not paying you a single penny, let alone an entire fourth."

"I can also have my boys beat the location out of you and then kill all three of you and we can keep all of it," Morgan replied.

"What's to make me believe you won't just kill us all if we show you where the money is?" Dirk countered.

"You'll just have to have faith," Morgan said with a smug grin.

Dirk glanced from Al to Sid as he considered the possibilities.

"Hey, boss," Sid spoke up, "I don't much want to die. There's always more stagecoaches and banks to rob. Let's just pay these jaspers off and get out of here."

Al spat on the ground. "You have even less backbone than Valentine. We worked for that money, and Morgan and his boys are going to have to fight us if they want it."

"No," Dirk said. "Three against fourteen aren't good odds. Al, you stay here and take care of Miss Drew. Sid, you go with Morgan down to where he was keeping his horses. Wait there, and I'll bring a fourth of our money down. I better not have anyone follow me."

"Why do I have to go with them?" Sid whined.

"For security," Dirk replied. "If I don't make it back with the money, Morgan can shoot you."

"But…" Sid protested.

Morgan smiled. "That's a kindly offer, Valentine. There's just one problem with it. I don't think this here fellow means enough to you for you to care whether I shoot him or not, especially if it gives you the chance to get away with all the money."

"You have my word. You'll just have to have faith," Dirk replied.

"Oh, I might even manage to have some faith in you, but not in your arithmetic," Morgan said. "You just might count that money wrong. I think I'll go with you and just see all that money for myself."  
Dirk considered it a moment, but then he gave in. "Oh, all right. But just you. The rest of your boys better go wait for us where I told them."

This plan was finally agreeable to everyone, except Sid and Al who both felt they were getting the short end of the stick in one way or another, but their opinion didn't seem to matter much to anyone else. Sid and the majority of the newcomers rode off in one direction, and Dirk and Morgan went in another. As they were riding away, Nancy noticed that there was a girl riding one of the horses in the back of the group. One of the men was holding a lead rope attached to its halter, and the girl herself appeared to be tied up. Considering the fact that Morgan and his men were horse thieves along with a few other things, Nancy felt sure that this was none other than the kidnapped Iola Morton.

As soon as the others had ridden away, Al turned to Nancy with an angry glare. He grabbed her arm and forced her to her feet.

"If Valentine manages to keep any of that treasure, he'll ride off with it himself and I won't see any of it," he complained. "This is your fault. If you wouldn't have come snooping around and then captured Valentine, this whole mess wouldn't have happened."

"You shouldn't have made whatever deal you did with Morgan," Nancy replied. "You should have realized he'd try to double cross no matter what happened."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't help you any," Al said. "Valentine might have been content with just shooting you, but if I'm not going to have any other satisfaction out of this whole thing, I'm going to at least make sure you suffer." Then he raised his hand and smacked Nancy hard across the face.


	17. Chapter XVI

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Once again, thank you for continuing to read this story! In particular, thank you to everyone who has reviewed since I posted the last chapter: Drumboy100, Rose12, angelicalkiss, Candylou (to answer your question, Fenton is with the posse who is searching for Nancy), Cherylann Rivers, and Kierielle Huntington (for your review on Chapter 1)! It always makes me happy to see a new review and it helps me to become a better author to hear what's working and what's not, so I am very, very grateful to all of you!_

**Chapter XVI**

The searchers were getting farther and farther apart, and Joe was one of the few among them who didn't have a lantern. He became separated from both his father and Frank and found himself almost entirely alone. He looked around and realized that none of the lanterns were anywhere in sight. He had either gotten farther away from them than he had thought or he had let the hills get between them. Either way, he wasn't going to find anything with just the moonlight to help him, so he turned his horse.

Then he heard the sound of a group of horses coming toward him. Instinct told him that it would be better to hide until and unless he could learn who the newcomers were rather than take the chance of being caught by the outlaws alone. He dismounted his horse and led it into a cleft in the rocks big enough to hide them both.

The horsemen rode past without speaking, but Joe could tell from the sound of the hooves that there were more than there should have been if this was part of the rescue party. That was strange, he thought, since even if Dirk met up with the other outlaws, there shouldn't have been more than three of them. He decided to follow them.

They led him right to Shadow Mountain, but not up to the cliff houses. Instead, they took a little winding path up the side of the mountain, which Joe doubted was a particularly advisable path in the darkness. Fortunately, none of them slipped or stumbled.

The path led them up to a little plateau on the side of the mountain where there was a sort of natural corral. While Joe watched from the shadows, the men began to dismount and one kindled a fire which was soon blazing. A slender, dark-haired girl hurried to the fire and began to warm her hands, and one of the men shoved her back rudely.

Joe felt a little surge of anger at seeing her treated in this way. From the description the Mortons had given them, he felt sure that this was Iola. It was a relief to see that she was alive and apparently unhurt, but now he had to figure out how to get her away from these people, whoever they were.

That wasn't going to be easy. There must have been at least a dozen or so, and since it looked likely that these were the men who had been terrorizing the Mortons, they were undoubtedly dangerous. Joe's first impulse was to charge forward to the rescue, but he realized that it might be best to wait and get an idea of what exactly the situation was.

Most of the men seemed to be in high spirits about something. The jug of whiskey that Joe now noticed making the rounds could have had something to do with that. One man, however, was sitting by himself and looking very much as if he wanted nothing to do with the others, although Joe thought that one or two of them seemed to be keeping an eye on him. Iola was sitting on a rock, trying to act as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Food, mostly dried meat, was doled out to the men, and before long they seemed to be having a jolly time. The lone man apparently refused any offer of food, and Joe noticed that none was offered to Iola.

None of this was particularly helpful, and Joe wished he could hear what was being said, but he was too far away. He decided to try to sneak in a little closer. Iola was on the very edge of the circle of firelight. Maybe he could sneak up behind her and persuade her to come with him quietly. Having been kidnapped, she would probably be willing to take the risk to escape.

Joe left his horse ground hitched in its hiding place and crept around to where Iola was. There was a rock and a scraggly bush a few feet behind her and between them and the darkness, Joe thought he would be hidden well enough there.

"Miss Morton!" he called in the lowest and quietest voice he could manage.

Iola stiffened when she heard him, but she made no other sound. Whether it was an instinct not to betray the person who had spoken to her or whether she wasn't sure where the voice was coming from, Joe couldn't tell.

"Don't look, Miss Morton," Joe went on, speaking even more quietly now that he had gotten her attention. "I'm a couple of feet behind you. If you can slip back here, we can get away."

Iola hesitated. "It will never work," she whispered back. "They're watching me. They'll see."

"You can try," Joe replied. He was starting to get just a little impatient. Every second that they wasted whispering back and forth only gave the kidnappers more of a chance to capture them.

"I have tried," Iola said. "It won't work. Who are you, anyway?"

"My name's Joe Hardy. I'm a detective. I know your parents and your brother. Come on! We don't have any time to waste."

Iola looked around her. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to her right now, and so she made a sudden decision to take the chance. She slowly stood up and then backed away into the darkness outside the light from the fire.

It might have been better if she had just walked normally. If she had done that, when she was inevitably noticed, someone might have just ignored her, not realizing she was planning on making a break for it. As it was, there was no mistaking her intentions. Even before she reached Joe, someone shouted and there were several men after her. She and Joe tried to run, but within moments, they were surrounded.

NDNDNDNDND

George kept the others moving at a fast pace. She wasn't sure the murderer would do anything as part of the search party, but then, there wasn't any use taking chances. Then, too, if he somehow suspected that Nancy was on to him, and he happened to be the one to find her and happened to be alone at the time, it would be a perfect opportunity to rid himself of a detective. He had already killed at least one person. It was all too likely that he wouldn't stop at two.

Alice and Bess were good rider and they realized the need for haste, so they were able to keep up the pace easily. Ned was a different story. Riding a walking horse didn't bother his injured ribs, but the incessant bumping of a trot or jolting of a lope was bothering them immensely. He had already been in pain from the ride to the ranch with Humber, and now he was beginning to have a hard time breathing or thinking about anything besides trying to stay on the horse.

Bess noticed that he was lagging, and she reined up her horse. "Are you all right, Mr. Nickerson?"

The other girls stopped their horses, too, although George was obviously annoyed by the delay.

Ned took several shallow breaths – anything deeper would have hurt too much – and he held one hand against his side. He had wanted to be of help in the rescue party, but he was now beginning to realize that Sheriff Humber had been right in insisting that he would only slow them down. It hurt almost as much as his ribs to admit it, but he said, "You girls better go on ahead. I can't keep up this pace. I'll follow as fast as I can."

"We can't just leave you here alone," Bess protested.

"He can take care of himself," George decided quickly. "We've got to catch up to that rescue party before anything happens."

George and Alice urged their horses forward. Bess hesitated a moment, but then she decided that Ned was more likely to take care of himself on his own than her cousins would be in facing a murderer, and she hurried along after them.

Ned kept his horse at a standstill for several more minutes, trying to recover. His ribs didn't hurt any less, but at least they weren't being aggravated into hurting more every second as they had been as long as he had been moving. He realized now that he wasn't going to be any use at all in this.

He felt tears of pain and fury burn in his eyes and he angrily wiped them away. Crying was the last thing he needed to do right now. He knew he wasn't very well-thought-of in Dry Creek. Neither were his parents, for that matter. They were strangers, the sort of educated strangers who were trying to bring culture to the little frontier town that scarcely had time to read an ordinary newspaper. It wasn't that they were disliked; they were more of a joke than anything else. Ned hadn't really cared about that before. He had always been the sort of person who did what he thought was best and didn't care if other people criticized him or didn't understand. But something had changed the day he had been attacked. He didn't want that to be the way everyone in town would always think of him: nothing more than an over-educated, dandified drifter who wanted to change everything even though he couldn't take care of himself.

Then, too, there was Miss Drew. He had never met anyone like her. The thought of her being in danger was tearing at his insides, and there was nothing he wanted more than to help her. That was killing him more than any damage to his already damaged reputation; even more than his aching ribs.

He steadied himself. It didn't matter if he was the one who came to Miss Drew's rescue. All that mattered was that Miss Drew was rescued. Ned would have hindered the mission and now he had slowed down Miss Marvin, Miss Fayne, and Miss Regor when they were trying to help as well. It would have been much more sensible for him to just stay in town. No, the most sensible thing for him to have done would have been to stay at home in bed like he was supposed to. What had he been thinking when he had left? It wasn't like he could do any good where Miss Drew had failed.

Ned was just about to turn his horse around and try to ride back to Shadow Ranch where he could at least tell Mrs. Rawley where her nieces had gone and ask to stay on the couch awhile when he was startled into sitting upright by a scream. It was so quiet and distant that at first he wasn't sure if he had really heard it or not. Then it was repeated.

It came from somewhere to the left. Ned turned his horse and spurred it to a gallop, bracing his teeth against the jolting and bouncing, even though a gallop is a less jolting gait than a trot or a lope. Of course, galloping had its own dangers, considering the situation. All at once, a canyon opened up in the darkness in front of him, and his horse skidded to a halt just in time. The sudden stop nearly pitched Ned over the horse's head, and even when he was safely settled in the saddle once more, all he could do for a few seconds was hold his hand over his ribs and try to catch his breath.

Then he noticed a little circle of light in the canyon below, and then that there was the sounds of a scuffle coming from below. He even thought he could hear muffled cries from down below. He looked around and spotted a narrow trail that led down into the ravine.

Moving as quickly as he could through the pain, he dismounted his horse and began scrambling down the path. He lost his balance in the dark and the steep ground and ended up sliding the rest of the way down. Fortunately, it wasn't as steep as he had expected it to be.

Ned struggled to his feet and looked toward the circle of light. He saw now that it was a lantern that had been set on one of the rocks, but that wasn't what arrested his attention. A man and a woman were struggling next to one of the walls of the canyon. The woman's hair was tousled, her face bruised and bloody, and her dress torn in several places. The man had his hands around her throat and was trying to strangle her, despite the fact that she was desperately trying to pull his hands away. Neither had noticed Ned, or else they were just ignoring him.

His hand went to the gun on his hip. He carried it with him whenever he was out and about in the desert; it was only good sense to have a means of defense against any rattlesnakes or other dangerous animals one might meet, and of course, when a man is specifically going after a kidnapper and possible murderer, it wouldn't do to go unarmed. Ned didn't practice with it as much as he should, but after all, he had other interests besides practicing his sharpshooting. He hoped it didn't show as he held the revolver out in both hands and cocked back the hammer.

"Let go of her!" he shouted, and he was relieved that his voice didn't tremble or break.

The man glanced over his shoulder at him, and Ned saw with confusion that this wasn't Dirk Valentine. The man smirked just a little and then turned back to his victim.

However, the momentary distraction had given her the chance to try to break loose. She had nearly gotten out of her captor's grasp, but he grabbed her again and shoved her roughly against the rock wall. She stopped struggling, stunned, and instantly her attacker wrapped his hands around her throat and began to squeeze again.

"Stop!" Ned shouted again, and he added a very unimpressive, "Please!"

Neither the plea nor the gun seemed to matter in the slightest. Every second mattered now. Ned could feel the sweat on his forehead. He couldn't think about it; he just had to do it. He squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed extra loudly in the canyon. The other man collapsed in a heap on the ground.

For a few seconds, Ned couldn't move. He slowly, numbly returned his gun to the holster. Then he stumbled forward. "Miss Drew? Are you all right?"

The woman was indeed no one else besides Nancy. She was doubled over coughing and she gripped Ned's hands to steady herself. Blood was dripping from a cut over one eye and her nose, but it appeared that the blows had been confined to her face. Moreover, it looked as if she had done her share of fighting back, judging from the blood underneath her fingernails. Even the tears in her dress appeared to have been caused by her struggling to get more than anything else.

Ned's first reaction to the situation was to be sick, but Nancy's condition numbed his thoughts of what he had done. He would focus on her first and worry about the rest of it later. "Are you all right?"

Nancy was a little dazed by her experience and the blow to the head she had just received, not to mention Ned's sudden appearance. "I…think so," she said, but her voice and breath came shakily. "Thank you."

Ned glanced over his shoulder at the man who was lying on the ground behind him. Another wave of sickness washed over him, but this time, he realized that he needed to check on the man and make sure he was still alive. He bent down and rolled him over on his back. Several deep, bright scratches stood out on his pale cheek. There wasn't the slightest sign of life about him.

"I think I need to sit down." Nancy was staring at the dead man with a horrified expression, but she didn't make any move to go anywhere else.

Ned glanced up at her. Then he stood up and took her by the arm and gently led her to where they could still be within the light of the lantern but were out of sight of the body. They sat side by side against the steep wall of the canyon.

For a few moments, Nancy sat staring straight ahead, trying to come to grips with everything that had just happened to her. It had been close – much too close. If Ned – by pure luck – hadn't stumbled along just then… She drew up her knees, put her arms on them, and buried her face in her arms as she felt tears come to eyes.

She couldn't stop thinking about the events of the night: Dirk threatening her with the gun, the outlaws, and finally Al trying to kill her with his bare hands. If Ned hadn't come along… Well, that probably hadn't been _pure_ luck. It probably hadn't been luck at all. She tried to compose herself to say a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Of course, it couldn't have worked out any better, really. She was glad it had been Ned – and Ned all by himself – who had found her. She had been with Ned after her had been beaten, and somehow that experience made her feel that she didn't have to pretend to be stronger than she really was with him. If it had been Frank or even her father who had found her, she wouldn't have wanted them to know just how shaken she really was, but she knew that Ned understood. She scooted a little closer so that their shoulders just touched and she could be assured that he was still there, even if she couldn't see him.


	18. Chapter XVII

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read! I know I say it every time and it's turned into a bit of a formula, but I really do mean it. There's nothing that will cheer an author on more than knowing that people are reading what she's writing. Well, nothing except a review, that is. So, thank you very, very much to all the reviewers since I posted the last chapter: drogorath, angelicalkiss, Drumboy100, and Candylou!_

**Chapter XVII**

It was a forlorn trio of girls who rode slowly back toward Shadow Ranch in the hours just before dawn. They had gotten turned around in the dark and had missed Shadow Mountain entirely. By the time they had realized their mistake and corrected it, they couldn't find any trace of the search party. Finally, even George had to admit that they were wasting their time and they would be better off just heading for home. Even so, she didn't have to be happy about it.

"We should have thought this through better," Bess was saying. She was worried about Nancy and exhausted from a long day followed by a sleepless night of riding, and so it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that she was seething. "What difference would it have really made for Sheriff Humber to know that one of his men was a murderer at that exact moment? Well, apart from the fact that he would have had to arrest him and leave someone here to watch him and get delayed in going after Nancy and have less men to do it so that Dirk would have a better chance of escaping."

"All right, all right," George grumbled. "I just didn't want them all to get murdered."

"And why would that happen?" Bess went on, waving one arm dramatically. "Nothing's changed as far as the murderer knows. If he wanted to murder everyone, he could have done it before now. Not to mention that he could have picked a much better opportunity than when there's twenty armed men all together. He'd be killed himself before he could kill anybody else. Besides that, how do you know Nancy _didn't_ tell the sheriff her suspicions, and he didn't tell her that he couldn't do anything based on what Nancy _thinks_, at least not without proof, which Nancy and none of us have."

"Could you two _please_ stop fighting?" Alice begged. She was nodding in the saddle, but if she couldn't go to sleep, she at least wanted some peace and quiet.

George and Bess looked at one another and each of them had more to say but neither said it. They rode on, longing for the sun to rise and this dreary nightmare to be over.

After another quarter of an hour or so, George spotted a figure ahead. The person was walking slowly, and so the girls rapidly caught up with him or her. After a few minutes more, George decided that it was most definitely a woman walking with her head down.

"Nancy?" she called, a wild hope rising up in her. Or maybe it wasn't that wild. Of course, Nancy would be able to get free all by herself and then start walking back to the ranch.

The woman looked up at George's shout. She was still too far away to see much about her in the darkness other than her general shape, but George found this response encouraging. She pressed her heels into her horse's sides and quickly caught up with the woman. Bess and Alice did the same. However, when they were close enough to see her a little better, they realized that it wasn't Nancy.

"Frances!" Bess said. "Where have you been? We all thought you had run away."

It was too dark to see the tear stains on Frances's face, but the other girls guessed that they must be there when she sniffled and didn't answer the question directly.

"I'm so stupid," she lamented instead. "I'm an idiot and a fool and a coward and…I'm just so stupid."

"I'm not going to argue with you on that," George muttered under her breath.

Bess heard and shot her a warning look, or at least tried to in the dark. Then she climbed down from her horse and put an arm around Frances's shoulders. "What on earth happened? Didn't you go to meet Dirk?"

Frances nodded. "I thought he really loved me. Oh, but it's all my fault. He tricked me. And now…" She put her hands over her face and wailed instead of finishing her sentence.

"What's your fault?" George demanded. "Tell us what happened. If you saw Dirk, you must have seen Nancy."

"Is she all right?" Alice asked.

Frances sank to her knees and sobbed even harder. Bess tried to hold onto the hope that Frances's tears were over Dirk's apparent betrayal and not because Nancy had suffered some terrible fate, but that hope was quickly waning.

"Really, Frances, if something's happened to Nancy, you had better tell us now," she insisted.

Finally, Frances managed to control her tears a little, just long enough to blurt out, "He's killed her. And I didn't even try to stop him."

"What!" George burst out while Alice gasped and Bess swayed a little as if she was going to faint. George jumped down from her horse, grabbed Frances by the shoulders, forced her to her feet, and began shaking her. "You're wrong! Tell me you're wrong! What really happened?"

Frances began crying afresh now and was sobbing much too hard to even breath properly, let alone say more than a few incoherent, gasping words. Although Bess still felt more than a little like fainting, she was beginning to get a little bit of a grip on herself and think through the situation. She stepped forward and tried to pull George away from Frances.

"That isn't going to help," she said. "Frances, you have to show us where this happened."

George reluctantly let go of Frances as she realized that Bess's solution was far more likely to produce results than shaking an explanation out of Frances would. It took some time, but they managed to persuade Frances to show them. She climbed up into the saddle behind Bess, and the girls turned their horses around and headed back in the direction from which they had come.

NDNDNDNDND

Nancy woke up cold and stiff just as the sun was beginning to rise. For a moment, she blinked sleepily, trying to remember why she was so sore everywhere and why she was sitting up rather than stretched out comfortably in her bed. The rocky wall at her back was hard and sharp rocks jabbed into her back in places.

Then she realized two things at the same time. The first was that she had fallen asleep with her head leaning against someone's shoulder and that that someone was none other than Ned Nickerson, a man she scarcely knew. The second was the memory of the events of the night before suddenly washing over her. Both were enough to frighten her into stumbling to her feet.

She looked around wildly, but she calmed down when her gaze fell on Ned. He was still asleep with his head bent uncomfortably far over the opposite shoulder from the one Nancy had been resting against. She wondered how she had come to lean against his shoulder, much less fall asleep there, and whether Ned had been already asleep before then. She hoped he had been, but even if he hadn't, she felt that he would understand and not think ill of her for it. After all, he knew that Nancy had come very near to being killed that night.

She reluctantly turned her gaze from him to look behind her. Instantly, she wished she hadn't. Al, the outlaw who had beaten her, was still lying stretched on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. Three long, bloody scratches running down his nose and across his chin showed up vividly in his pale skin, and Nancy realized that she must have given them to him with her fingernails in the struggle. She shuddered and turned away from him.

Softly, she knelt down next to Ned. "Mr. Nickerson. It's morning, Mr. Nickerson."

Ned blinked and stirred, taking in a deep breath as he did so. His eyes met Nancy's for a moment, but then he struggled painfully to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Miss Drew," he began apologizing at once. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. Are you all right?"

"I am, thanks to you," Nancy replied. "You saved my life. I couldn't ever thank you enough."

Ned's eyes strayed to the body on the ground and his face turned a shade of green. Then he turned back to Nancy and all at once seemed to notice that one of the tears in her dress had left her right shoulder almost completely bare. He hastily averted his eyes and scrambled out of the vest he was wearing, which he handed to Nancy. "I'm very sorry, Miss Drew. I didn't realize…"

"Neither did I," Nancy assured him, blushing a bit as she put the vest on. It was too big for her, but it served the purpose and the warmth that still lingered on it was pleasant. She blushed an even deeper red. It would probably be best to concentrate on other matters. "We should get back to town or to Shadow Ranch," she said. "My father must be terribly worried by now."

"He went out looking for you, along with Sheriff Humber and the Hardys and men from the three ranches around here," Ned told her. "I…I couldn't keep up."

Nancy gave him a sympathetic smile. "That's all right. It turned out for the best." She took a deep breath. It was her habit to deal with such situations in a business-like way, and she really wanted this incident to come to an end as soon as possible. "Dry Creek would be the most likely place to find the sheriff, if he's back from the search party. Besides, we can't just leave _him_ here. We need to take him back to the sheriff's office." She nodded vaguely in the direction of Al's body, but she didn't particularly want to look at him again.

"I guess so," Ned agreed.

Both Ned's horse and Al's had stayed all night, and so Nancy and Ned decided they would tie Al onto the back of his horse and then ride double on Ned's. Arranging Al's body was an unpleasant business, and Ned's ribs were hurting too badly to be quick about it. The ride back to town was also uncomfortable. There wasn't enough room for them to both sit in the seat. They were both much too tall for either of them to ride on the horn, and so the only option was for one of them to ride behind the saddle. Ned, being a gentleman, offered to sit there, and so he had to endure being pinched by the leather and having to hold his legs just so in order not to accidentally kick the horse in the flank and having nothing to hold onto (he certainly couldn't hold onto Nancy), all the while being in an agony of pain from his ribs. He wondered if he hadn't broken them even worse somehow.

Though Nancy had a far more comfortable place to sit, she didn't enjoy the ride any more than Ned did. She was still shaken from her experience, and even more so by the fact that nearly all the outlaws had escaped. She tried to think of something else. Anything would be better, even going over her theory about the murder and testing it for flaws. She had felt sure the night before that none of the outlaws had had anything to do with it, and now she was completely certain. Even so, she couldn't get any further than that before her mind would drift back to imagining having to describe her ordeal to Sheriff Humber and her father and probably to the Hardys and to Bess and George. That was another thing she appreciated about Ned. He knew some of it, of course, the worst of it, but he hadn't asked for any explanation beyond that. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could just tell all the others at the same time and wouldn't have to tell the story more than once.

NDNDNDNDND

Carson Drew was pacing back and forth in the sheriff's office. He would have never agreed to come back into town if Humber hadn't convinced him that Nancy might have escaped and gone back there herself. It was obvious now that that wasn't so, and Carson was ready to head back out again – by himself, if he had to. Humber had then told him that he needed to get to sleep, but Carson would have to be run to the point of exhaustion to sleep as long as his daughter was in the hands of a vengeful outlaw.

It didn't help that Fenton and Frank Hardy were currently distracting Humber by insisting that something had happened to Joe. He hadn't come in with the rest of the search party, and nobody seemed to know where he might have gone off to. Carson understood how they felt, of course, but there was no evidence that anything worse had happened to Joe than simply getting separated from the rest of the search party. Nancy, on the other hand…they could very well be too late already.

Carson ran a hand through his hair, making it stand upright. He jumped and turned around when he heard the door open. It was only Humber.

"What are we waiting for?" Carson demanded.

Humber looked tired and defeated, as he had every right to, Carson realized with a pang of conscience. Even if they did find Nancy, _his_ daughter was still missing. However, Humber put a comforting hand on Carson's shoulder. "I sent Hernandez back to Shadow Ranch to see if Nancy might have gone back there by some chance. He should be back any minute. Why don't you at least sit down for a while?"

The door opened again and Dave Gregory looked in. "Sheriff? Joe Hardy isn't the only one who didn't come in with the search party last night. Walt Sanders and Bud Moore both seem to be missing, too."

"I know they can take care of themselves," Humber replied. "We only heard that one shot last night, so it's not too likely that they ran into the outlaws. There would have been a good deal more shooting than that if they had."

"That's true," Dave said slowly. "Nobody seems to know where that shot came from."

Humber sighed. "I suppose you have an idea."

"Well, Miss Drew did suspect one of the men of killing Mason, and all the men knew it," Dave told him. "What if she was right, and it was one of those two, and they were alone, and the killer would have figured it was only a matter of time before he was found out and…"

"That shot could have been anything," Humber interrupted him. "There's no use theorizing about it." He gave him a warning look. Dave could very well be right, of course, but Humber wanted to keep all theorizing about the shot to a minimum, considering that the most obvious explanation for a single shot last night was one that it would never do to have Carson think of it.

Dave seemed confused, but he kept his silence. He was about to leave again, when the door was thrown open and Hernandez came rushing in.

"Well? Was Miss Drew there?" Humber asked him.

Hernandez shook his head. He was breathing too hard to answer and it was obvious that he had hurried back with more news, probably bad news from the way things were going. "No, _señor_," he said finally. "Only Mrs. Rawley and Mr. Regor were there. They're very worried."

Humber groaned. "Don't tell me that those girls went off looking for Miss Drew last night."

Hernandez nodded. "All three of them went, even Mr. Regor's daughter, and they haven't come back."

Dave's face lost a shade of color. "We'd better go look for them right away."

"Go ahead." Humber waved his hand. "Just don't get lost yourself, even if that does seem to be what everyone is doing. The Hardy's headed out just a little bit ago to look for Joe. If you hurry, you can probably catch up with them."

Dave was practically out of the door before the sheriff finished speaking. Hernandez took another moment to catch his breath and then turned to follow him. He happened to glance to the left as he did so, and then he stopped stock still.

"It's Miss Drew," he announced in a surprised voice.

"What?" Carson practically ran over him as he pushed past to get out the door. Sure enough, Nancy was riding double with Ned Nickerson toward the sheriff's office, leading another horse with something bulky strapped on its back. As soon as Nancy saw him, she nudged the horse into a lope.

She jumped off once she had reached her father and wrapped him in a hug. "Dad! I'm so glad you're here!"

"Nancy, you're safe!" He squeezed her as tears of relief brimmed in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for Mr. Nickerson." Nancy turned to her rescuer with such a smile of gratitude that he found the courage to smile back past his pain.

Carson caught Ned's hand and shook it heartily, even though Ned hadn't yet undertaken the painful process of dismounting the horse. "I'll never be able to repay you for this, Mr. Nickerson. Thank you."

"I didn't do much, Mr. Drew," Ned replied.

"It's a great deal to me," Carson told him. He turned to Nancy again and noticed the bruises and blood on her face. "Are you sure you're all right? I think I'd better take you to see the doctor."

"I don't need a doctor, Dad," Nancy assured him.

Carson, however, insisted that did, and finally Nancy gave in. As they headed down the street, Humber's gaze shifted toward the body strapped to the back of the other horse.

"What happened, Mr. Nickerson?" he asked.

Ned turned to look at the body and his lower lip trembled. "He was hitting Miss Drew. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't, and I…I killed him." He drew a shallow, shaky breath and closed his eyes.

Humber scratched his chin. There was a great deal that was still unexplained since this man was obviously not Dirk Valentine, as he had momentarily hoped, but that was enough of an explanation for now. "Hernandez, why don't you take this fellow down to the undertaker's and then ride out to the Nickersons' and tell them Ned is here. They haven't been in asking about him yet, but they must be wondering where he's gone to, especially since he wasn't supposed to leave home. Do you need help getting down, Ned?"

"No," Ned replied, trying to retain as much of his dignity as was still possibly. He slid down from the horse and gasped in pain as he did so.

Humber caught him by the arm and guided him inside the sheriff's office. There he let him ease into his own chair behind his desk, since that was the only chair that was at all comfortable in the building.

Ned rubbed his face with one hand. "I didn't want to kill him. I…I…I warned him. He knew I had a gun. I told him to stop. Why couldn't he just stop?"

Tears came to his eyes and his ribs throbbed from the shaky, heaving breaths he was taking. It was all he could do to keep from burying his face in his arms and sobbing.

Sheriff Humber stood in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, but it was a pitying expression that his face held rather than a stern one. "How long has it been since you've last eaten?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Wha…what?" Ned stammered, looking up at him for the first time.

"How long has it been?" Humber asked. "I expect it wasn't today, and it's nearly noon."

"It's been a while," Ned admitted, "but I don't think I'd better eat anything just now. I don't know that I could keep it down."

"No food, couldn't have gotten much sleep, and you're clearly still hurting pretty bad," Humber observed. "Even without what you've been through, that would be enough to make anything look worse than it is." He rummaged around in a cupboard and pulled out a sack with a half a loaf of bread in it. "I don't have anything much decent to eat around here, but this should be better than nothing." Then he opened one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a bottle of red wine. "This might help it go down a little easier."

Ned gave him a questioning look.

Humber smiled slightly. "Sometimes a man needs something a little less hard than that stuff Cappy calls whiskey and serves in his saloon. I've always been more of a wine-drinker myself, anyway, when I could get it." He poured some into a glass that he had also taken from the drawer and set it in front of Ned. "Go ahead. It looks like you could use something."

Ned stared at it for a few seconds. Then he picked it up and took a long drink from it. It burned in his empty stomach, and he realized that he was maybe not as sick as he thought he was. He began nibbling at the bread.

Humber watched for a little while and nodded in approval. Then he pulled up another chair and sat across the desk from Ned. "You've never killed a man before." It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

At the words, Ned almost choked on a few crumbs of dry bread. He put his face in his hands with his elbows on the desk. Though words failed him, his answer was obvious enough.

"I know how you're feeling, Ned," Humber assured him. "Killing a man to protect yourself or another innocent person is something every man should hope he never has to do in his life. I'm sorry it had to happen to you, but you have to understand that you didn't have a choice."

"You weren't even there," Ned mumbled.

"No," Humber agreed, "but I've had to kill a few men. I know how these things happen, and I know you, Ned. You wouldn't have pulled that trigger if you thought there was any other way." He shook his head. "The problem is that that's not going to help right now, because you already know that's true. A decision like that is hard, even if you know it's the right thing to do."

"It shouldn't have been such a hard decision," Ned said. "I should have been honored to get to rescue Miss Drew and knowing that she's safe now should outweigh feeling guilty about how I had to do it. What's wrong with me? Any of the other men who went out looking for her wouldn't have thought twice about this."

"I don't know that that's true, but even if it is, I think that would imply more that there's something wrong with all the other men than that there's something wrong with you. Killing another person is a very serious and terrible thing. Any man who can feel nothing on doing it, even if he had every right, even if he had every duty to do so, is a man who has killed a part of his own soul somewhere along the line. But, Ned, something that a lot of people don't understand is that doing the right thing is sometimes the hardest thing you could possibly do and sometimes it feels like you just get punished for it in some way or another. That's where these fancy, new-fangled philosophers are wrong. Good men and women don't just do the right thing because they want a reward or because they don't want to do the wrong thing very much."

"What would you know about modern philosophers?" Ned asked without thinking.

"We're not wholly uncivilized out here in the West," Humber replied with almost a smirk. "More's the pity, when it comes to most modern philosophers."

One side of Ned's mouth twitched ever so slightly as if he might have smiled. Then he became serious once more. "I thought when you kept trying to decide whether something was right or wrong, it was your conscience talking. If you can't listen to your conscience, how do you know what is right or wrong?"

Humber sat back in his chair and considered this. "Consciences can be wrong. People convince themselves that wrong things are right and right things are wrong all the time. It doesn't change the harm a man does if he thinks he's right in whatever he's doing that's wrong. I guess when it comes to places like this, when your conscience doesn't agree with what people are saying, then it's your business to dig in and find out who's right. The thing is, you've got to be honest and really be trying to find out what's right even if you don't like it, instead of just trying to prove what you really want to do is right, or even just not so bad."

"It's still hard, though, isn't it?" Ned replied.

"I know. That's why, even though I really do believe what I'm saying is right, I don't always live like it." Humber cleared his throat. "Well, are you feeling better for having eaten?"

"I am, a little," Ned replied, surprised by how a morsel of bread and a half a glass of red wine could give him a bit of the courage he had been lacking. He thought about asking Humber what he had meant by what saying that he didn't "always live like" he believed what he was saying, but he decided against it. He was grateful for Humber being so understanding, and it didn't seem fair to press on him. "It's just…what do I do now? I can't just go on with my day like nothing happened."

"No," Humber agreed. "For now, there's not much you can do. You need to rest more than anything so you can give those ribs a chance to heal. Read or something to keep from just sitting there and thinking about it. When you're well enough, find some work to do to help keep your mind off it."

The door to the office opened and the sheriff and Ned looked up. Ned suddenly felt embarrassed to have anyone see him the way he must look. However, the person who entered was a rather dusty stranger, though Ned doubted that his quick eyes missed very much. He was a man of maybe thirty-five or so, tall and rangy and apparently used to hard work, though judging from his suit, he had probably gotten dusty from traveling rather than working.

"Pardon me. I'm looking for Sheriff Humber," he said.

Humber stood up. "That would be me. What can I do for you?"

"Good to meet you, Sheriff." The man held out a hand. "Sam Radley, Pinkerton Detective Agency."


	19. Chapter XVIII

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you, as always, for continuing to read this story! Thank you in particular if you left a review since I posted the last chapter: Rose12, angelicalkiss, Drumboy100, Candylou, drogorath, and Cherylann Rivers!_

_I'd like to apologize for not giving you any heads-up that this chapter was going to be a week's wait. I didn't exactly realize it would be myself. So thank you for your patience. The next chapter will definitely not be ready by Friday. It will possibly not be ready by next Tuesday. I've got a busy week ahead and then I'm going for a weekend trip, so I won't have much time for working on it. I think from here on out, I'm just going to post when I have a chapter ready. Things are wrapping up, so there won't be very many more chapters._

**Chapter XVIII**

Joe strained against the ropes that held his wrists. This was not at all how his rescue mission was supposed to have gone. Instead of escaping with Iola Morton safely in tow, now he was a prisoner, too.

The slim, dark-haired girl tied up next to him smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. If I would have just listened to you and made a dash for it when you said to, we probably would have gotten away."

"Oh, there's no guarantee of that," Joe reassured her, although he tended to agree with her. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about what's going on here? These men are horse thieves?"

"That's right," Iola told him. "Well, anyway, that's one of the things they do. It's not the main thing. They're using the horses to work a mine they found on the mountain."

"That seems like a lot of work for outlaws," Joe observed.

"I don't think they're really outlaws," Iola said. "At least, they weren't before this. They tried to buy the land that the mine is on legally, if not morally. After all, they didn't tell the owner that even the high price that they offered was only a tiny part of what the land is really worth."

Joe nodded. "That solves one mystery, anyway. They probably panicked that someone else would find out about the mine when there was all this investigation going on about that land and hoped that withdrawing their offer would put a stop to it. Wait, so is Morgan a real person, or just a name that they were using?"

"He's their leader," Iola explained. "He's not here, though. He rode off with another man to get some money. I think the other man really was an outlaw. He had two other men with him, and a girl. I think the girl was a prisoner, but I couldn't really see or hear much. One of the outlaws is here with Morgan's men. Apparently, Morgan sold them some of his stolen horses at some point. They said something about a murder, too. Has somebody been murdered?"

"Yeah," Joe replied. "A cowboy. I'm sure you didn't know him. That's the one mystery that still isn't solved. Morgan or one of his men could have killed Mason if he found out about the mine and the stolen horses and all, or it could have been Dirk Valentine and the other outlaws after all, or it could have been hard feelings left over from the War, or it could have been Pop Hamilton confusing him for one of the horse thieves, or it could have been an unknown person with a personal grudge against. The suspect list only gets longer every time we learn something new instead of shorter."

Iola tried to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face with her bound hands. "I really don't think it would be Morgan and his men. They don't strike me as murderers."

Joe raised an eyebrow. He had heard of cases where captives defended their captors, but he had never really believed it could happen. "They kidnapped you," he reminded her.

"I know," Iola said. "That's why I don't think they're murderers."

"That logic doesn't make much sense to me."

Iola cocked her head to one side in annoyance. "They kidnapped me, but they haven't hurt me. If they were murderers, they would have killed me right away, wouldn't they?"

"They have a reason for keeping you alive," Joe reminded her.

"I'd maybe believe that if they had had me do anything to convince my parents that I'm still alive, but they haven't," Iola insisted. "I don't know what the intend to do with me once they have all the horses they need, but I'm certain that if they planned on killing me, they would have done it by now. Isn't keeping me alive terribly risky for them?"

"Well, yes," Joe agreed. "This whole thing is risky for them, and for what? A mine? Mining is a perfectly legitimate business. They could have just told Sheriff Humber about the mine, and they could have become partners, and then they wouldn't have had to do anything illegal at all. It just doesn't make sense."

"Unless they're wanted for something else," Iola pointed out. "I don't think they would have thought of stealing horses or kidnapping me if they hadn't already committed some kind of crimes. Just not murder."

"It's possible," Joe admitted. "Now we've just got to find a way to escape from here without them becoming murderers."

NDNDNDNDND

Sheriff Humber stood up to shake the Pinkerton detective's hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Radley. I'm Meryl Humber. This is Ned Nickerson."

Sam Radley shook hands with both of them as Ned added, "Please excuse me for not standing up."

"He's been injured," Humber explained. "But that's beside the point. You're here to look into the murder, is that correct?"

"Partly," Sam replied. "They'll be sending another man for that. I was coming to Dry Creek anyway to investigate the horse thefts, and my superiors asked me to learn a few facts about the murder to forward on to my colleague who will be here in another few days."

"Horse thefts?" Humber repeated, completely bewildered. "What horse thefts are you talking about?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know about it? A man named Pop Hamilton contracted us to track down the thieves who have stolen about a half dozen of his horses."

"He hasn't reported this to me," Humber said.

"I don't like the sounds of that." Sam frowned. "I always work with the local law enforcement myself, and I'm always disturbed when a client refuses to cooperate with them."

At that moment, Nancy and her father, along with the doctor who had come to take a look at Ned after hearing about what he had done, entered the office. Humber introduced them to Sam.

"He says he's here to look for some stolen horses of Pop's," Humber went on, looking fixedly at Nancy. "I don't suppose you know anything about this?"

Nancy was trapped in a corner. The eyes of all five men in the room were on her, waiting to see what she would answer. "Yes, I do know that Mr. Hamilton has had some horses stolen from him," she admitted. She stopped there. The Mortons' involvement would come out sooner or later, but Nancy thought it would be better to get Fenton Hardy's advice on just when it should come out.

"And you haven't done anything about it, Miss Drew?" Humber asked.

"The murder has been my main focus," Nancy explained. "Honestly, I think the Hardys know more about this than I do."

"Do you mean Fenton Hardy?" Sam asked.

Nancy nodded. "Do you know him?"

"Yes. I've worked with him a few times," Sam replied. "Even if I hadn't, I'd still know him by reputation. So, Fenton Hardy is working the same case I am. Where is he? I need to talk to him about the case."

"He's out in the desert looking for his son," Humber said.

"What?" Nancy asked, concern written all over her face. "Did something happen to Frank or Joe?"

"I'm sure not," Sheriff Humber said. "A few of the men haven't returned from the search party yet, or at least, they haven't reported back."

"There are the girls, too," Carson broke in. "Bess and George and Alice Regor went out last night, too, and they haven't come back yet."

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. "You let them join in the search party?"

"No, no, of course not," Humber said. "It was all their own idea to go out and look for you. Unless it was that they were still trying to tell me about your theories as to who the murderer was. It had waited long enough, I thought it would be better not to delay the search party, especially since I had talked to you more recently that Miss Fayne had."

"That's right," Nancy said. "Although, I never did get a chance to tell you my suspicions. Still, as you said, you need proof, and I don't have any."

"Isn't anyone out looking for the girls?" Ned asked, feeling a little responsible for them having gone missing. Of course, if they had run into trouble, he wouldn't have been in a position to help them, not to mention that if he had stayed with them, he wouldn't have found Nancy.

"Yes, the Hardys and Dave and whoever else they found to go with them are out looking for the girls and for Joe." Humber turned back to Nancy once again. "Dave said you suspected one of my men of being the murderer. Did it happen to be either Bud Moore or Walt Sanders?"

Nancy lowered her eyes slightly. "Yes."

NDNDNDNDND

"This is a big desert to search," Frank said disconsolately as he looked around the landscape before him.

He was sitting on his horse at the top of a small hill along with his father, Dave Gregory, and two of the Crowhead Ranch cowboys, Pymatuno and Terry. The desert stretched away for miles all around them. There were a few houses – Frank spotted the Mortons' – dotted around, but somehow everything seemed still and lifeless. Frank let his shoulders sag in discouragement.

"We'd better all keep together this time," Fenton said. "There aren't enough of us to make spreading very worthwhile and we also don't want anyone else getting lost."

Pymatuno shaded his eyes against the strong sun. "There will be so many trails down there that it won't be easy picking out one that we need."

"We would have been able to find the girls' trail easily," Dave pointed out. "We would just start at Shadow Ranch and no one else would have gone over their trail yet."

Fenton shook his head. "That might be, but it would take several hours to ride back there and several more to follow their trail back out here. We'd use up most of the daylight."

"Well, we're not going to find any missing people at all if we don't start riding," Terry said. "Why don't we get a move on?"

The others agree silently, and they began riding down the hill to the desert floor below. That was followed by many tense, hot hours in the saddle as they tried to find anything that might indicate which direction Joe or Nancy or the other girls might have taken. They were all tired and hungry and in poor spirits by the time the sun began to set.

Frank wiped his brow with one sleeve. He could feel himself growing more and more impatient the longer this lasted. He was beginning to worry that they would never find Joe. Surely, Joe wasn't simply lost, as everyone seemed to be suggesting. He had a better sense of direction than all of that. There were only two reasons why he would still be out here: either he had found a trail that he was following or he had gotten into some kind of trouble. Knowing Joe, it was probably the latter.

"What's that?" Dave pointed across the desert to the left.

A horse was slowly wandering along with a saddle and bridle but no rider. One rein had slipped down off its neck and the saddle was a bit crooked. From this distance, it looked like the horse that Joe had been riding, and Frank spurred his own mount toward it to find out for sure. He breathed a little easier when he was close enough to see that it was the same color but it wasn't the same horse.

Frank grabbed its trailing rein and looked up as the others approached. "Do any of you know whose horse this is?"

"It must be either Bud or Walt's," Dave said, getting off his own horse. "That is, it's one of Sheriff Humber's. See, it has Shadow Ranch's brand. One of them must have been riding it. In all the excitement last night, I don't think anyone was being too particular about what horses they rode."

Frank also climbed off his horse. "Whoever saddled up this horse was particular enough to put saddlebags on it." He opened one of them to find that it had two shirts and a handful of other necessities, such as a razor and a little bit of cash. "It looks like someone was planning on going on a trip."

"Or was planning on running away," Fenton said.

The others looked at one another. If that was the case, then it looked as if either Bud Moore or Walt Sanders was the killer.

NDNDNDNDND

Hours earlier, well before sunrise, Bess, George, and Alice were following Frances's lead to the place where Dirk was holding Nancy. Frances and Bess were riding double, and Frances was doing her best to give accurate directions. Naturally, she was still extremely upset, though she had finally been able to give a mostly coherent account of what had taken place.

The other girls were appalled and were pushing their horses as hard as they dared. Every second was haunted by the sickening knowledge that it was very likely too late already to save Nancy. Still, they couldn't turn back until they knew for sure. Besides that, if the worst had happened and they were too late, they weren't going let Dirk escape again.

"Wait. Stop," Frances said suddenly.

"What's wrong?" George asked, speaking civilly with difficulty.

Frances looked all around her, straining her eyes in the darkness. "I know we can't see much, but this doesn't look familiar."

"I thought you said you knew exactly where it was," George snapped.

"I thought I did," Frances said meekly. She was far too cast down in spirit to defend herself further.

"Well, what are we going to do?" Bess was on the verge of tears. This delay was more than was to be borne.

Frances really did break down into tears. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm such a fool."

"Don't you think you've realized that a little late?" George demanded in a fury. "It's all very well to sit there and call yourself a fool, but that isn't going to help anything."

"Fighting isn't either," Alice spoke up. "It's just going to delay us more, really. All we can do is try to find the right trail and hope and pray that somehow Nancy got away or something."

"You're right, Alice," Bess agreed. "Let's retrace our path and see if we can find where we took the wrong turn."

"The problem is there isn't any real path," George said. She wasn't to be placated so easily. "It's not like we just go back to the fork in the road and take the other path. We could have been going the wrong direction from the start for all we know."

"True," Bess agreed, "but we have to try something. You know where you met the two outlaws for sure, right, Frances? We'll go all the way back there if we have to. I'm sure we'll figure it out."

"No," Frances said. "No, George is right. It's hopeless. We'll never find Nancy, and even if we do…"

All at once, the sound of a gunshot nearby shattered the stillness. The girls jumped and their horses tossed up their heads.

"It was this way!" George spurred her horse in the direction of the gunshot.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Alice asked as she followed reluctantly.

They had only gone a short distance when they came upon two men who loomed up in the darkness without warning. The girls brought their horses to an abrupt, skidding halt.

"Who's there?" George asked, admirably keeping even so much as a quiver out of her voice.

"Miss Fayne?" Bud Moore's voice came out of the darkness. "It's only Walt and me. What on earth are you girls doing out here? Don't you know it's dangerous?"

"Walt?" Bess repeated almost automatically in her surprise and dismay.

"Sure. What's the matter with Walt?" Bud asked, but as he reached the end of the sentence, it became obvious from his tone that he guessed.

There was a sound of a revolver being drawn and the weapon glinted in Walt's hand in the moonlight. "I didn't want it to come to this," he said, though his voice sounded harder than it did sorry. "I wanted to just slip away quietly, but you won't let me now and I've come too far to draw any lines now." He hesitated. "Someone fired that shot, so someone must be around here. Better not try anything here. Let's get going and do this somewhere else."


	20. Chapter XIX

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Yay! I'm able to update now instead of having to wait even longer. I had a great Labor Day weekend, and I hope all of you did, as well. I think I will be able to have the last two chapters on schedule. I can hardly believe that this story is almost finished. I would never have gotten this far if it hadn't been for you, reader, and I thank you for it. In particular, I'd like to thank you if you left a review since I posted the last chapter: cowpoke, Drumboy100, Candylou, Cherylann Rivers, Rose12, and angelicalkiss._

**Chapter XIX**

The afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen when a party of five riders set out from Dry Creek, bound for the Hamilton Ranch, though they would make a stop at Shadow Mountain. Despite all the misgivings of Carson Drew and Sheriff Humber, Nancy had convinced them to let her come along with them. She had quite a talent for persuading other people, and in addition to this, both Carson and the sheriff thought it would be better to keep her close by so that they could keep an eye on her.

The three of them were accompanied by Sam Radley and Hernandez. Their intention was to have Nancy show them the place where she had been held and then they would try to follow the trails of the two groups of outlaws. By this time, of course, Dirk and Morgan would have completed their errand and returned to their men or else fought and one of them would have been killed, perhaps with the survivor leaving the territory with the money. If they somehow failed to find the trails, or if they lost them soon after starting down them, then they would go to the Hamilton Ranch and learn exactly what was going on with the stolen horses.

Nancy led them straight to the place where she had been held. The men dismounted to look around, but Nancy stayed on her horse. She couldn't so much as think about setting foot on that ground again so soon without shuddering.

"The signs are pretty clear," Sam said after examining the ground. "They back up Miss Drew's story exactly. Here's where a single horse came down from one end of the canyon. It stopped about here and two people got off, a man and a woman, judging from their shoe prints. The woman stood about here and didn't move from this spot from a long time, considering how smeared her tracks are here. Then three riders came down from the same direction. All three dismounted their horses – two men and a woman. This woman walked away on foot, although her trail is ruined before she got very far by a group of a dozen or so horsemen…"

"Your tracking skills are very impressive, Mr. Radley," Humber interrupted, "but Miss Drew already told us what happened. The only question that matters now is: Can you follow these trails?"

"Certainly," Sam assured him. "It would be simple."

"But there must be two trails," Hernandez spoke up. "Which one do we follow?"

Humber considered this for a few minutes. Finally, he said, "If the larger group of men took another hostage with them, then we need to go after them. I don't like the idea of letting the two ringleaders escape, but rescuing that girl is more important."

Sam climbed up on his horse again. "In that case, follow me."

It wouldn't have taken a particularly skilled tracker to follow the trail of the larger group of men. The tracks of that many horses were hard for even the untrained eye to miss. The trail led them toward Shadow Mountain.

As they were approaching the foot of the mountain and were passing through a small outcropping with a few scraggly trees, Sam raised his hand in a silent warning for the company to halt. No one else had seen or heard anything, but they obeyed nonetheless.

"A group of riders over that rise ahead," Sam whispered in a voiceless tone that wouldn't carry far. "Just barely caught sight of them. Didn't have time to count how many there were."

His companions all fell silent, waiting and listening for a sign that would tell them whether the strangers ahead of them were some of their missing friends or the outlaws. They hadn't long to wait, for the riders were coming directly toward them and had not slowed down. As soon as they crested the small rise that they had been hidden behind, they stopped in surprise upon seeing this other group. Nancy and her companions relaxed when they saw them, however. It was the Hardys and their search party.

Frank was the first to speak up. "Nancy! Er, Miss Drew, you're all right."

"Yes," Nancy said, smiling a little. It was cheering to have their company doubled in size.

"Did you find anything?" Carson asked.

Fenton shook his head. "No. At least, not much. We found a horse with Sheriff Humber's brand on it. It was wandering around. We realized after we tried to bring it along that it was lame. It was fully saddled."

"It must be Bud or Walt's." Humber frowned and cast a sidewise glance at Nancy. "If it was lame, they might have just let it loose."

"There's no sense conjecturing about it until we have some facts," Sam broke in.

The others agreed, and he was introduced to the Hardys' group, although, of course, Fenton already knew him. Then they continued on, following the trail that Sam had spotted. Pymatuno was also a skilled tracker, and between the two of them, no one had any doubts that they were following a true trail.

They rode in almost complete silence apart from the gentle clatter of the hooves of the horses on the stones. In the growing twilight, they saw the light of a campfire ahead of them and then none of them breathed a word unless it was absolutely necessary as they approached it, a feeling of anticipation running through every one of them.

NDNDNDNDND

The outlaws had scarcely paid any attention at all to their prisoners that day. The only times they acknowledged their existence were when they brought them food or water. That was fine by Iola, who didn't particularly crave the outlaws' company, and by Joe, who would rather listen and watch and try to piece together just what was going on.

Sometime in the mid-morning, two men rode in on horseback. Iola whispered to Joe that one of them was the leader of the horse thieves, Morgan, and Joe, in turn, was able to identify the other as Dirk Valentine for her. Dirk looked decidedly unhappy, but Morgan seemed quite pleased with himself.

"Well, boys," Morgan announced, "let's stop wasting time. Our original plan won't work now, but we'll come out of this somewhat richer than we left. It's too risky to try all of us riding out in broad daylight, so we'll wait till dark. We'll move out separately and meet in Phoenix to divvy up the money."

There was a chorus of approving shouts in response to this. Dirk shook his head and came to tie up his white horse near to where Joe and Iola were bound.

Another man hurried up to him. "What happened, Valentine? Did he get all the money?"

Dirk yanked on one of the straps of his horse's saddle with all the vigor of anger. "Every penny, Sid. There wasn't anything I could do. If I had held back any of the money, he would have killed me and gotten it anyway. He would have killed you and Al for sure. Where is Al, anyway?"

Sid looked as if he had just received a blow. "I think I'd just about rather die that lose _that_ much money. We'll never see that much again."

"Oh, well, we'll find some more fat pickings," Dirk told him. "But what about Al?"

"I don't know," Sid said. "He never came back. You don't suppose he let that Drew girl escape and is chasing her all over the desert now?"

"That would be…the last thing we need right now." Joe had the distinct impression that Dirk had been about to say that Nancy escaping would be something very different than what he said.

"Why don't we get out of here?" Sid asked. "I don't like these fellows any better than you do. I don't see any reason for sticking around any longer than we have to."

Dirk glanced over his shoulder at the other men. "The sheriff's still got men all over looking for me. We saw some of them on our way down the mountain. We'd best all wait for nightfall."

The afternoon passed slowly, horribly slowly. It was hot and with nothing to do, the outlaws were getting sleepy. They were doing very little talking now.

Joe caught himself nodding off once or twice. He sternly told himself he couldn't let that happen. If all the outlaws were going to fall asleep, he and Miss Morton needed to be ready to use the opportunity for their escape. If only he could untie his hands!

For several hours, he pulled and tugged at the ropes around his wrists as well as he could. The skin was rubbed raw by now and every movement was painful. He had to clench his teeth together to work up the nerve to continue his task.

The sun was sinking rapidly toward the west, and Joe knew that he was running out of time. Iola, too, was trying her hardest to free herself. Finally, with one last hard tug that scraped terribly against his raw skin, Joe pulled his left hand free from the bonds. He smothered the desire to cry out, whether in pain or relief, he couldn't have said.

He had been tied in such a way that once one hand was free, the ropes fell from the other. He turned to Iola and within moments had her untied as well.

"We have to be quiet," he warned her. He looked around. Most of the men were still asleep, and those who weren't were paying no attention to the prisoners. "We've got to go now. It could be our last chance."

Iola nodded. She was determined not to make the same mistake as last time. Joe grabbed her hand and with a sudden but silent movement, they disappeared from sight behind the boulders.

Now they just needed to put as much distance as they could between them and the camp as they could before anyone noticed that they were gone. Every instinct told them to run, but Joe's experience warned him to move quietly and not risk attracting any attention, at least until they were out of sight and hearing of the camp.

They found a little trail that led upwards on the mountain. Though they didn't know it at the time, it was the same trail that Frank had climbed down a few days earlier and was the worst possible trail they could have chosen. It was too narrow for anything but single file with a steep drop on one side and a sheer cliff on the other. Worse still, several yards of it were completely exposed with absolutely no cover to the camp below.

"I don't know that I can do this," Iola whispered, glancing from the trail to the camp. "All they have to do is look up and they'll see us, and then they could just shoot and we wouldn't have a chance of getting away."

"I thought you said they weren't murderers," Joe reminded her in an attempt to throw some humor into the situation.

"I don't know that I'd stake my life on it, which is exactly what we'll be doing," Iola replied.

"Only if they see us," Joe said. "You'd be surprised how many things people miss, especially when they have to look up to see them. I doubt any of them will notice us, just as long as we're slow and careful and don't make any noise. It will help that it's starting to get a little dark now."

Hand in hand, they began edging along the narrow trail with Joe in the lead and Iola following. They both pressed as close to the cliff as they could. It was a good thing that neither were the sort to get dizzy in high places, or they never would have made it.

They were nearly to the end when they heard a shout from the camp below. They paused, and then they heard the words that they were most dreading, "Look! Up there!"

Joe glanced back at Iola.

"Let's go!" She pushed against him, eager to be anywhere but stuck on the side of this cliff.

They quickened their pace for the last few feet, and then the path both widened and ran behind some bushes which gave them cover. Now that they could, Joe and Iola began to run up the path. It took them up to the cliff houses and the same idea occurred to them both: there were plenty of places to hide up here. They darted through the empty doorway of the nearest house that looked to still be at least mostly intact.

As soon as they were inside, they realized that they were not alone. Walt Sanders was standing at one end of the house with a drawn gun in his hand. Bud Moore was stretched out on the floor. Bess, George, Alice, and Frances were huddled together against one of the walls.

Joe took a moment to take the scene in. Then he released his tense shoulders in a sort of shrug and said, "I guess this is what they call out of the frying pan and into the fire."

NDNDNDNDND

Nancy's party heard the shouting and commotion from the outlaws' camp before they were within sight of it. Frank, remembering his adventure from a few days earlier, guessed where the camp was, and under Humber's direction, they split up into several groups to try to surround it. Humber took Carson, Nancy, and Hernandez with him, while Fenton, Frank, and Dave went together and Sam, Pymatuno, and Terry formed the third group.

Fenton, Frank, and Dave had the longest way to go, since they were going to try to cut off the outlaws' escape from above. The other two groups approached the camp from either side, though both Humber and Carson insisted that Nancy hang back. Considering that she was unarmed, she was willing to comply.

They were quick enough that most of the outlaws were hemmed in the camp itself. A few of them tried shooting their way out, but they were taken by surprise enough that they dropped their guns in the end without much of a fight. However, when once all the men were captured, it was discovered that at least three had escaped in the confusion: Morgan, Dirk Valentine, and Sid Brice.

Nancy was much too absorbed in listening for the outcome of the attack to notice someone sneaking up behind her until the person was only a few feet away. She whirled around to see Dirk Valentine standing there with his gun in his hand. The scene from the night before was still fresh in Nancy's mind, but the one thing that had stood out to her then was that Dirk hadn't shot that time.

"I hadn't expected to see you again, Miss Drew," Dirk said, readjusting his grip on his gun.

"Mr. Valentine, don't do this," Nancy said. "What is it going to gain you?"

"If you would have left well enough alone from the beginning, none of this would have happened," Dirk replied. "It might not improve my lot any, but it will taste good to have some revenge."

He brought the hammer back with a click, but before he could pull the trigger, he was once again interrupted. This time, it was by the arrival of Sheriff Humber, who unfortunately didn't realize what was happening before he had walked into full view. Dirk immediately shifted his gun to aim at him, Humber froze, raising his hands away from his own gun belt slowly.

"Don't take another step, Sheriff," Dirk warned him. "I wouldn't mind getting even with you either."

Humber looked intently at him, but didn't say a word. Nancy wished there was something she could do. She hated standing there, unable to save herself or the sheriff.

For a long, tense minute, the three of them stood like that, staring at one another and none of them speaking a word.

"What are you waiting for?" Humber asked finally.

Dirk didn't reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and lowered the gun, slowly putting the hammer back in place. "All right," he said. "I give up. There's no point in escaping now, anyway."

Humber hurried forward and relieved him of the gun. "Where are Morgan and your other man?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Dirk told him. "They're both cowards. Their only thought was to save themselves. If there's one thing I can't abide, it's a coward." His voice caught on the last word.

Humber grabbed him by the arm and led him forward, with Nancy walking along beside them.

"That wasn't cowardly, what you did," Nancy told Dirk. "It was a courageous thing to decide to give yourself up instead of killing us."

"It was the first decent and manly thing I've heard of you doing," Humber agreed gruffly.

"It was a foolish thing to do," Dirk muttered. He said something more, but Nancy couldn't catch it.

When they reached the former camp, the search party, with the exceptions of the Hardys and Dave who hadn't arrived yet, gave a general cheer at seeing the famed Dirk Valentine captured.

Carson approached Humber and Nancy right away. He had two lengths of rope, one still knotted into a rough circle, in his hands. "We didn't find any prisoners," he reported, "but it looks like there was at least one. I found these ropes over by those rocks there. I figure either one prisoner was bound hand and foot or two were tied just by their hands. Whichever it was, I think they escaped. Neither rope is cut, as I would expect if they had been set free."

"True," Humber agreed. "The prisoner – or one of the prisoners, at least – must have been Miss Morton. If she's wandering around the desert with no horse and no water, we need to find her quickly."

"We also need to find Bess and George and Alice," Nancy insisted. "Something must have happened for them to be gone so long."

"They're missing?" Dirk asked, much to the surprise of everyone there that he would be interested.

"Yes," Humber replied. "Do you know anything about it?"

"I might," Dirk admitted. "I saw them this morning up by the cliff houses, but that was hours ago. There's no guarantee they'd still be there."

"Could you show us?" Nancy asked.

"It could be your chance to redeem yourself a bit," Carson added.

"All right," Dirk agreed. "I'll take you."


	21. Chapter XX

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Thank you so very much for continuing to read this story! There's only one more chapter to go, so if you've made it this far, I hope you stick around for it. Thank you especially to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Drumboy100, Rose12, Candylou, and angelicalkiss! I appreciate you guys so much!_

**Chapter XX**

"We don't want to go down the same trial I did the other day," Frank was saying as he rode along next to his father and Dave Gregory. "It's too narrow for a horse, and I doubt the outlaws would try to escape that way, anyway."

Dave nodded. "I think I know the path you're talking about. There's another one that would be much better."

He led them up into the cliff houses and down to the lowest level. It was a rougher road than would allow much talking or thinking or anything that would take attention away from the business of navigating the trail, but that didn't keep Frank from intermittently mulling over the events of the past week whenever he had the chance.

His first concern, of course, was Joe. The two of them had worked enough cases for Frank to know that whenever Joe didn't return where he was supposed to go, he was most likely in some sort of trouble. And there was plenty of trouble for anyone to get into. There were at least two different gangs of outlaws and a murderer wandering about, not to mention the natural dangers of cliffs and snakes and any number of other things.

The one comforting thing was that no matter how much trouble Joe got into, he always managed to get out again. Then, too, Frank had a feeling that the mystery was very nearly solved. Soon, they could head for home and leave the Wild West behind. Frank no longer felt that he had any obligation to Cousin Ruth to help her with her ranch. She would probably be stubborn and leave it to them in her will, but with a little luck, it would be thirty or forty years before they would have to worry about what to do with the ranch then.

It took much longer to think through that than it should have. Frank's thoughts would get interrupted every few minutes, and then when he could settle down to them again, it took him a moment to get back to where he had left off. They were also making slow progress in getting through the ancient village, and Frank was feeling nervous and impatient.

Then all three riders were brought to a halt by a yell. Its source was unmistakable: Joe. Frank couldn't make out the words, but it was indisputable now that Joe was somewhere nearby.

NDNDNDNDND

It had been a long day for Bess, George, Alice, and Frances. First they, along with Bud Moore, had been captured by Walt Sanders, who was clearly the murderer, just as Nancy had suspected. He had taken them toward the cliff houses, which was the only place he knew of where there were adequate hiding places. On the way, his horse had picked up a stone in its hoof and gone lame, after which, he forced Alice to give up her horse and ride double with George.

By the time they had reached the cliff houses, it had been morning and Walt had been in a panic, imagining that he heard people nearby. He hadn't dared to fire his gun, and so they had spent the day merely sitting and waiting in a stuffy, mostly ruinous ancient house. Walt hadn't even allowed any of them to talk, for fear the people he was constantly imagining would overhear.

Then, finally, in the late afternoon, Walt had gone to the door to listen and see if there were any nearby. Bud had taken the chance to try to jump him, and the two of them had struggled for a few minutes. Momentarily, it looked as if they might escape, but then Bud hit his head against the stone wall and was knocked out. Bess had been trying to revive him ever since, but she hadn't had any luck so far.

Then the unexpected had happened and Joe Hardy and a girl had rushed in. Obviously, they hadn't been aware of what was happening in the small house before they ran in, and now they were Walt's prisoners, too. No one was any too pleased about the situation, and Walt himself was no exception.

He was running his free hand through his hair and sweat was standing out on his forehead. "This is getting to be too much. Seven people! How am I going to take care of seven people?"

"You could just not kill us," Joe suggested, but Walt gave him a glare that clearly said that he was in no mood for such suggestions.

"I'm not going to hang for something I couldn't help," Walt insisted.

George raised an eyebrow. Her arms were already crossed. "I suppose it's very easy to accidentally murder somebody."

Walt waved his hand impatiently. "You don't know anything about this. I'm not talking about Mason. I meant to kill him. He was going to turn me in."

"For what?" George asked.

"Back in Kansas," Walt said, though it was a difficult explanation to follow. "It was a fair fight, no matter what anyone else said. Besides, he had taken my money. They said I drew first, but that was a lie."

Bud interrupted the conversation by finally groaning and stirring. Bess helped him to sit up.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

"I don't know." Bud put a hand to his head. "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter now," Walt said. He glanced out the window. "It's dark enough now. We'll just have to get this over with. Everyone get to your feet."

"Listen," Joe told him, "you don't have to do this. Just tie us all up and ride out of here. Once you leave, everyone will know you're the murderer anyway, and so it's not like we can really do you any more harm."

"If we're all missing, there's no reason why anyone would suspect me in particular," Walt argued.

"Nancy already suspects you," Bess told him.

Walt scoffed. "If she's still alive. Now, everyone outside."

"No," George said, standing her ground. "We're not going anywhere, and you can't kill us in here. If you fire that gun in here, the roof will collapse and you'll be buried and killed along with the rest of us."

Walt looked up at the ceiling. The girl had a point, he had to concede. "I'll get you all outside, even if I have to drag you."

He grabbed Alice by the shoulder and began dragging her toward the door. For a moment, she resisted wildly, and then she remembered Joe's fighting lesson that he had given her. She squared herself up as well as she could and then landed a punch right in the man's stomach. She quickly followed it up with a blow from her other fist, although this one was a little weaker since it was hampered by Walt's grip on her shoulder. He doubled over, probably more out of surprise than pain, and lost his grip on Alice.

"Good job!" Joe shouted as he jumped in. It only took him a moment to wrestle the gun out of Walt's hand.

Walt, whatever else he might have been, wasn't a complete fool. He stood staring at Joe for a few seconds and then said, "You can't use that gun in here for the same reasons I couldn't."

Joe glanced down at the weapon in his hand that he didn't dare use. In the moment's distraction, Walt lunged at him again. At this point, though, he was more interested in escaping than anything else. He knocked Joe off his feet and then bolted for the door.

Joe scrambled to his feet and followed him. George, too, rushed after him, but he was already disappearing from sight.

"We can't let him get away!" George shouted. "Come on. I know where he hid the horses."

Joe needed no persuading to follow even though he had dropped the gun and had neglected to pick it up again, and the two of them ran for the small, natural corral where Walt had left the four horses that had remained. Walt hadn't bothered to remove their saddles and bridles, and so George thought that they could chase after Walt without delay. However, when they reached the corral, they met someone else whom they hadn't wanted to.

"Well, well." Morgan held one of the horses' reins in one hand and leveled a revolver at them with the other. "I didn't think you would have gotten very far, Hardy."

George froze, not daring to move lest this new gun-wielding villain would fire at them. Joe, however, was having a very different reaction. He stopped, sure enough, but after taking a second or two to analyze the situation, he burst into laughter.

The unexpected reaction did not seem to impress Morgan and even George couldn't resist giving him an odd look. She wondered if he had suddenly lost his mind.

There was a method in his madness, though. First, the irony of escaping Morgan only to fall into Walt Sanders' clutches and then escaping Sanders only to fall back into Morgan's clutches really did evoke a bizarre desire to laugh in Joe. Secondly, he knew that it would confuse Morgan and throw him off.

"What's so funny?" Morgan demanded.

Joe, however, was too doubled over with laughter to reply. This whole situation was just too much.

By this time, Alice, Frances, and Iola had come running (Bess had stayed behind with Bud who was still dizzy). Frances had had the presence of mind to pick up the gun that Joe had dropped. She now aimed it at Morgan with the coolness of desperation, holding it in both hands.

"Drop it!" she shouted.

For the first time, Morgan looked up and noticed her. She cut an impressive picture. Her long dark hair had mostly fallen out of the tight bun that she usually kept it in and was blowing all about her in a tangled mess. Her once fancy dress was torn and smudged and streaked with dirt and sweat. One of her hands still had its soft riding glove, but the other glove had been lost, even Frances didn't know when. Her three companions flanking her were just as disheveled as she.

It was just as well that they were. If they had looked like they ordinarily did, Morgan might have been tempted to respond to Frances's threat in much the same way that Joe had responded to his. As it was, he could see that the girls were tired and ill-used and desperate and not at all in the mood to be trifled with. He slowly, reluctantly began to lower the gun to the ground. Then, at the last moment, he jerked his arm as if he intended to shoot after all.

He never got the chance. There was another shot from somewhere above and behind, and Morgan dropped his gun, clasping his opposite hand to his forearm in pain.

George turned to see where the shot had come from, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw that it was Dave Gregory, flanked by Fenton and Frank Hardy. The three men hurried down to take charge of the outlaw leader and make sure the rescued prisoners were all right. Dave headed straight to George's side.

"Are you all right?" he asked, shyly taking one of her hands.

George blushed a deep red, which only embarrassed her and caused her to blush even more. "Yes," she finally managed to say and then stumbled around in saying, "Thanks you. I mean, thanks to…Er, thank you."

"How about you?" Fenton asked Joe.

"I'm just fine," Joe assured him. "We solved the mystery, too, which is good, except the murderer escaped. Now, if we could only find him and Miss Drew…"

Frances bowed her head in shame. She didn't want to have to admit to what had happened and the part she had played in it again, but perhaps it was a just punishment for her to have to repeat it over and over.

NDNDNDNDND

Nancy rode along with her father, Sheriff Humber, Sam Radley, and Dirk Valentine. The other outlaws were safely in Hernandez's custody, who was keeping watch over them with the help of the other men from the search party. Neither Carson nor Humber thought it was wise to let Nancy out of their sight again, and so they brought her with them.

Dirk was leading them up the mountain by an easier path than the one Joe and Iola had chosen. It led around behind the cliff houses onto land owned by Ruth Hardy. The tension between him and his captors was thick, and Nancy found herself wondering what fate was in store for a man like that. She honestly believed now that he didn't have it in him to kill a person in cold blood, even to save his own life. Yet, honorable as that might be, he had done harm enough through his other crimes. It wouldn't be just for him to escape without punishment for that, but at the same time, it didn't seem just for Dirk to spend the rest of his life in jail, which he would undoubtedly have to do now.

"Dad," she said in a low voice. She and Carson were riding in the back, and so it was easy for them to speak without being overheard.

"What is it, Nancy?" Carson asked.

"Is there anything you can do for Mr. Valentine?"

If anyone else had asked Carson to help a man who had threatened them twice in twenty-four hours, he would have been surprised and confused, but for Nancy to ask such a thing was almost to be expected. He considered for a moment or two. "I can try, but I won't make any promises until we see how this turns out. It wouldn't be right to try to get a reduced sentence for Valentine if he doesn't have any intention of changing his ways. Still, it's obvious now that he didn't kill Mason, so I don't expect that he'll be hung. Of course, if those two lawyers, Duncan and Elwood, get hold of him again…" His voice trailed off.

"Well, then, isn't there something that could be done about the justice system here in the West?" Nancy asked. "It might not be perfect back home, but it is much better."

"There's not much that can be done just sitting back in River Heights," Carson replied.

There was something in the way he said it that made Nancy guess that there was more to his musing than what he said. With a little shock, it came over her like a revelation what he must have been thinking. A little part of her quailed at the thought, but the much larger part, which soon drowned out the other, thrilled with excitement. "Dad, are you saying…"

She was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot, which brought her back to the present moment with all its dangers and worries. The shot wasn't particularly close, and so it couldn't have been fired at them, but considering what was going on, it was almost certainly aimed at someone.

Everyone in the group fell silent and reined their horses to a halt. When no more shots were fired, they proceeded slowly and carefully. This time, Humber took the lead and Sam rode next to him. Carson urged his horse into a trot to catch up with them so that he could ask Humber a question. That left Dirk to fall behind. He kept a little ahead of Nancy, realizing that he wouldn't be allowed to bring up the rear. Then he slumped his shoulders and rode forward with his head bowed.

Nancy let her horse pick up its pace a bit and was almost riding neck and neck with Dirk. He was muttering something under his breath. Finally, Nancy was decided that he was saying, "Serpent heart hid with flowering face. Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?"*

"That's funny," Nancy said aloud. "I never expected so many people in the West to be familiar with Shakespeare."

"He's not exactly a carefully kept secret by the more educated classes," Dirk replied. "At least, Frances isn't a snob about being educated."

Nancy watched him closely as he said it. "Is what that man said true? That you were only using Frances as a way of finding out what her father knew and was doing?"

Dirk let out a long breath. Then he squared his shoulders and said, "Yes, it's true. I never really cared about her. Of course, I didn't mind spending time with her. She's pretty and she knows a lot about the world and she adored me. What fellow wouldn't like that? But I always intended to leave her behind when I left this area."

The story rang false for Nancy, but maybe that was just because she wanted to believe that Dirk really did love Frances, in his own way. His actions in the last twenty-four hours would be easy enough to explain in a man in love when he wasn't supposed to be and didn't know what to do about it, but in a hardened outlaw leader with no care for any other human being, they were far too mysterious to explain.

All at once, there several shots erupted around them. Dirk instantly grabbed Nancy's hand and rolled off his horse, dragging her with him, as the men ahead of them scrambled for cover and shouted to try to organize themselves in the failing light. For an instant, Nancy was afraid that Dirk was going to try to use her for a hostage again to try to escape, but he only led her behind some boulders and told her to keep quiet and still while he peered around and tried to spot their assailant.

It was then that Nancy remembered that, of course, the sheriff had taken Dirk's gun. Neither he nor Nancy had any way of defending themselves, and so they were completely dependent on the other three men in their company.

Humber and Sam, once they were under cover, were firing back at the shooter as quickly as they could. Carson knew that he only had so much ammunition, and so he preferred to save it for a sure shot, though at the same time, he was hoping that if whoever was shooting at them had to be killed, it would be one of the other men who would do it, though he would do whatever it took to protect Nancy. Even so, he made the decision then and there that he would do what he could to bring law and order and peace to this place.

For a minute or two, the attacker was silent. The men also ceased their gunfire, wondering if one of them had hit him. Dirk peered out from behind the boulder to have a look, and Nancy followed suit. Instantly, they both ducked back as a bullet ricocheted off the rock.

"Valentine!" a man's voice shouted. "You dirty, rotten squealer! I'll kill you for this!" The voice continued with a long string of curses and then was followed by more shots.

"Sid Brice," Dirk said with a sigh. "I guess he noticed I was bringing the sheriff."

"He doesn't sound too happy about it," Nancy said, giving a wry smile.

Dirk looked back at her and an odd expression crossed his face. It seemed as if he was trying to make up his mind to say something, but before he could, the shooting redoubled and both he and Nancy instinctively ducked lower.

Then there was a shout from up above where Sid had been shooting from. Nancy recognized it immediately as Fenton Hardy's. She and Dirk peered out once again and after a few moments, they saw Sid Brice being escorted down the slope with his hands in the air by all three Hardys. Now that the danger was over, all Nancy's company stepped out into the open.

As soon as Frank saw Nancy, he hurried to her, giving Dirk a suspicious look as he did so. "Are you all right, Nancy? We were so worried," he asked.

"Yes, I am," Nancy said. "How did you find us?"

"We weren't far away," Frank told her. "We heard the shooting and came to help out if we could. We were able to sneak in behind that outlaw and Dad got the drop on him. The girls are still back there with Dave and Bud. They're all safe. Miss Humber is with them, too."

"Is Frances all right?" Dirk asked.

"Yes. That's what I just said," Frank replied with a little coldness in his voice. He instantly shifted his attention back to Nancy. "What happened?"

"It's a long story," Nancy said. "I'll tell you on the way back."

"We can't go back quite yet, at least not all of us," Frank told her. "The murderer is somewhere near here, and he's on foot. He can't have gotten far. We have to catch him."

"Is it Sanders?" Nancy asked.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Well, process of elimination, for one thing," Nancy replied. "If Bud and Dave are with the girls, it couldn't be either of them. Anyway, I already had my suspicions of Sanders. When the men were all discussing right and wrong and what makes a murder a murder, Sanders was trying too hard to say that there is no right and wrong. Only someone with a guilty conscience would try so hard to say that coldblooded murder isn't really wrong."

The little group of three was standing a short distance from the others. In the fading light, it was starting to get hard to see them. Carson noticed this and called for Nancy to come closer. Nancy, Frank, and Dirk turned to go, but then Frank, who was a step or two behind the others, suddenly groaned and fell forward against Nancy. Nancy stumbled in surprise and let Frank fall to the ground hard. She whirled just in time to see Walt Sanders standing behind them with a rock in one hand that he had used to hit Frank and the gun that he had taken from Frank's belt as he fell in the other.

The others noticed at once and made a move to draw their guns, but Sanders ordered them not to. With Nancy standing between them and Sanders, none of the men dared to open fire.

"Drop your gun belts nice and slow and easy," Sanders ordered them. "One at a time while the rest of you keep your hands up. You first, sheriff."

Nancy stooped over Frank to see if he was all right, but Sanders told her to stand up again. "What are you planning to do?" Nancy asked. "You can't kill everyone here."

"No," Sanders admitted, "but I can get a horse and get out of here. I don't particularly want any more murders to my name."

"Then why did you kill Chris Mason?" Nancy asked as, one by one, the men removed their gun belts and dropped them to the ground.

"Didn't have a choice," Sanders replied. "Got in a fight with a fellow back in Kansas. I didn't mean to kill him, but that didn't mean anything to the sheriff. Mason saw the whole thing and told the sheriff there that it was murder. I escaped, drifted around, kept out of trouble, didn't bother anybody. Then I saw Mason here and I knew I had to find a way to keep him quiet."

"If it was really an accident, you would have been acquitted," Nancy told him.

Sanders scoffed. "Do you really think a jury would have believed that, with Mason swearing that it was murder? I would have been hanged for sure. But it doesn't matter now, because what happened to Mason wasn't any accident."

"The same thing will only happen again," Nancy told him. "Even if you get away from here, someone else will recognize you. Just give yourself up."

Sanders' reaction to that was unexpected. He struck Nancy across the face. "Shut up! I won't fall for any of that!"

Dirk had been standing quietly in the background. With everyone but Sanders unarmed, Dirk was the only one close enough to do anything. He was wondering whether he should or not – after all, Sanders wasn't the only one who had been a victim of a faulty justice system – but when Sanders hit Nancy, he made up his mind. He jumped at Sanders and began struggling with him, trying to get the gun away from him.

While the two combatants were locked together in their struggle, Humber stooped to pick up his gun again, but he didn't shoot.

Sanders had tried to get in a shot at Dirk when the outlaw had first jumped him and had moved his gun in front of him so that now it was between the two and out of sight of everyone watching. Dirk had one hand on the barrel, trying to keep the muzzle from pointing at him, and his other hand on Sanders' wrist. At the same time, Sanders was raining blows on Dirk with his free hand wherever he could. They weren't the strongest punches he could have managed because the angle was off, but Dirk had no way of warding them off. He shifted himself to try to escape, losing his focus on the gun for a second. That second was all Sanders needed. He pulled the trigger.

*William Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_


	22. Chapter XXI

J.M.J.

_Author's note: Surprise! I'm posting the last chapter today instead of Tuesday, which is a full three days early. Part of it is because today is three months to the day that I posted the first chapter, and part of it is in gratitude for how patient you've all been with my slower-than-usual posting schedule. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Candylou, cowpoke, Rose12, and Drumboy100!_

**Chapter XXI**

For a breathless moment, Dirk and Sanders both stood as still as statues. Everyone realized that one of them must have been hit, but it was impossible to tell which. Then Dirk slowly sank to the ground with both hands pressed against his side. Sanders pushed him away, but he didn't have long to enjoy his victory, for Humber immediately fired a shot that struck him squarely in the heart.

After a moment of shock, Nancy hastened to Dirk's side and helped ease him into a sitting position. She glanced at his wound, and though she was no doctor, it looked bad to her. The other men quickly gathered around.

Sam took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound, though the thin piece of fabric did little to stop the flow of blood. "Is the nearest doctor all the way in Dry Creek?"

"I'm afraid so," Carson said, handing over his handkerchief to add to it.

"Doesn't matter," Dirk said. He gave a shallow cough and then went on, "It's better this way."

Nancy glanced around her and saw that Fenton and Joe were bending over Frank, who seemed to just be coming to. "Joe," she said, "Frank said that the girls are nearby."

"Just over that ridge where that other fellow was shooting from," Joe confirmed.

"And Frances is with them?"

"Yeah, that's right." Joe realized what she was getting at and glanced past her toward the sheriff. "I can go get her, if you think that's a good idea."

Humber nodded wordlessly.

Joe started to get up, but then he paused as he glanced down at his brother.

"He's all right," Fenton assured him. "You'd better hurry."

Joe nodded and took off at a run.

With Fenton's help, Frank sat up and rubbed the back of his head. "Ugh. What happened?"

"You were hit in the head," Fenton told him. "Just sit still. You'll be okay."

Joe made it back in record time with Frances, the other girls, and Dave and Bud following him. Bess and George hugged Nancy ecstatically when they saw her, but Frances only gave her an astonished look and then hurried to Dirk's side. He was lying with his eyes closed while Sam was still applying pressure to the wound, though it did not seem to slacken the bleeding at all.

"Dirk?" Frances said through her tears.

Dirk opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. "Frances. I…didn't think…you'd come back."

"Of course I would." Frances brushed a strand of hair out of his face and tried to smile, but the action only brought even more tears to her eyes.

Dirk drew a shaky breath and winced. "I'm sorry, Frances."

"It's all right," Frances told him. "I don't know what happened, but I do know now that you couldn't have killed anyone. I'm so sorry for doubting you."

"You had…every reason to doubt." Dirk closed his eyes as a wave of pain washed over him. "I love you, Frances."

Frances's tears streamed anew. "I love you, too."

What other words passed between them in those final moments went unheard by anyone else, for Sam, realizing that there was no hope of saving Dirk's life, abandoned his attempts and withdrew to give them privacy, gesturing for everyone else to do the same.

NDNDNDNDND

There was quite a gathering at the Hardy ranch one night a week later. It had been a busy week of sorting out exactly what had happened. The most important thing that was done that week was burying Dirk Valentine, who was given a quiet spot in a corner of the churchyard at one end of town. The funeral had been far better attended than any other outlaw's might have been and the mourners were genuine in their sorrow. Now, Fenton and his boys, as well as Carson and Nancy, would be leaving on the stage the next morning and heading back to Bayport and River Heights, respectively, and so Ruth Hardy was throwing a farewell party for them. Everyone involved in solving the cases had been invited, as well as a large assortment of other people from the area, though not all came. The most notable people missing were the Humbers, who were in no mood for parties, and Ned Nickerson, who hadn't been cleared by the doctor or his parents to leave the house so soon or so late at night. Nancy surprised herself by how disappointed she was by these absences.

The party coming from Shadow Ranch was a little late in arriving, and nearly everyone else was gathered by the time they reached Crowhead Ranch. Much to Nancy's embarrassment, they were greeted by a general round of applause when they entered.

Frank and Joe were the first people to approach Nancy and her friends.

"It's been nice getting to know all of you," Joe said. "You're a really great detective, Nancy. I hope that someday we can work on another case together."

"I'd like that," Nancy said. "You two are fine detectives, too."

"So you're not taking your cousin up on her offer to let one of you stay and learn the ranching business so you can take over someday?" George asked.

Frank and Joe glanced at each other.

"I don't think either of us are meant to be ranchers," Frank said. "Besides, we've got plenty of time to think it over. Cousin Ruth is counting on one of us changing his mind eventually, but I don't think that's going to happen."

"Of course, staying out here wouldn't be all bad," Joe added thoughtfully.

"I hope not," Nancy said with a small smile. "I've got something to tell all of you. Dad and I have been talking it over, and it's not completely decided since we have to talk to Hannah about it and see what she thinks because she's a part of the family and we're not going to just leave her in River Heights, but Dad wants to come back out here to live and try to do something about the mess of a justice system that they have out here."

Bess clapped her hands and gave a squeal of joy before she grabbed Nancy in a hug. "Yes! This is wonderful news, Nancy!" She kept one arm around Nancy and put the other around George. "It will be the three of us together again! You have no idea how much I've been dreading putting you on that stagecoach tomorrow and not knowing or even if I'll ever see you again."

Nancy laughed. "Even if we don't end up coming out here to stay, I'd come back as often as I could."

"This really is great, Nancy," George added. "We've missed you so much, and it would be even worse to have to say goodbye again after having you here."

"Well, like I said, it's not completely certain, but I think it's pretty likely," Nancy said.

"It must be more than just likely if you even said anything about it to us at all," Bess told her. "And now this party won't be ruined by an overhanging cloud of sadness. Well, except that we really do have to say goodbye to you two." The last sentence was directed toward the Hardys.

Joe shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if our paths crossed again sometime. At least, I think we should all keep in touch. You know, writing letters and all if that's the best we can manage."

"That's a good idea," Nancy agreed.

After a few more minutes of talking, Dave Gregory approached the group. After exchanging greetings with them all, he turned to George. "They're serving supper already. Would you like to get some, George?"

George's cheeks took on a pink tinge, especially when she noticed Bess waggling her eyebrows at her out of the corner of her eye. Even so, she willingly took Dave's arm. "Yes, I'd like to."

As they walked away, Bess shook her head. "I've never been one to turn down a romance, but George with a beau is a weird idea."

"Of course, George will never admit that she _has_ a beau," Nancy said with a grin.

"No, not until they're engaged, and then she'll have to admit it," Bess agreed. "For as smitten as Dave is over her, I'd say that's not too far off. You might not have time to move back here before you'll have to be a bridesmaid, Nancy."

Nancy grinned. The idea of George being the first out of her friends to get married was one that had never even occurred to her before, but she would be happy if it came to pass. "What about you, Bess?" she asked. "I always figured you would be the first of all of us to get married."

"It's going to take some time to decide exactly who I want to settle down and spend the rest of my life with," Bess replied. "Chuck is dashing and _so_ fascinating to talk, and he actually is interested in what I have to say. Then there's Bud. He's terribly smart and he was so dashingly brave when we were captured. I don't know how I can ever choose between them. Excuse me. I'd better go find them."

Joe rolled his eyes as she left. "You know, for the record, Bud got knocked unconscious and I was the one who disarmed Sanders and got out of that."

"With the help of a thirteen-year-old girl," Frank reminded him. "Not to mention that Sanders escaped and while you were chasing after him, you managed to get yourself recaptured for the third time."

"Well…" Joe couldn't think of anything to soften all of that, so he did the next best thing he could. "I just saw someone I want to talk to. I'll talk to you two later."

Frank and Nancy chuckled as he shuffled away.

"How about we go get something to eat, Nancy?" Frank asked.

"Why not?" Nancy replied, and they approached the buffet table.

When they had dished up their food, they found a spot on the outskirts of the crowd to sit down. They ate in silence for a moment or two.

Then Nancy said, "I'm afraid people might start talking about us again."

"It doesn't make any difference," Frank said. "People are bound to talk even if you don't give them any reason to. Besides, we're both leaving tomorrow, and you're the only one with any plans of coming back. What does it matter if anyone talks?"

"It doesn't matter to me," Nancy admitted, resolving that she would talk to the one person whom she would mind hearing any such rumors herself to clear the matter up. "I just hope it doesn't…Well, there's no hard feelings between us, are there?"

Frank gave her a confused look. "No. Why should there be?"

"No feelings at all between us?" Nancy went on.

"Only feelings of friendship," Frank assured her with a smile.

"Good. I was a little afraid you hadn't quite been completely honest with me when I saw how worried you were over me."

"I always worry when my friends are in trouble," Frank said. "You don't have to be in love with a person to care whether they live or die."

"True," Nancy agreed with a sigh of relief. "I'm glad I met you, Frank. I hope we meet again sometime."

"Like Joe said, I wouldn't be surprised if it happened," Frank said.

When Joe had said that there was someone he wanted to talk to, it hadn't merely been an excuse to get away. At that moment, he had spotted Chet and Iola Morton. He had known that they had been invited to the party, but he hadn't gotten a chance to talk to them yet. They seemed as if they felt a little out of place here and that they greatly appreciated Joe's cheerful greeting to them.

"I'm glad you two could come," Joe told them.

"We couldn't miss the chance to say goodbye, even if you _did_ break my arm," Chet replied teasingly, nodding at his arm, which was still in a sling.

"Oh, come on. Why not let bygones be bygones?" Joe said in the same teasing tone.

"We really are very grateful to you and your brother and your father and Miss Drew and everyone else who helped," Iola told him. "I might never have been rescued if it wasn't for all of you."

"I don't know about that," Joe replied, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly at the praise, especially praise coming from Iola.

The three talked for a while longer, until the dancing started. Then Joe asked Iola if she would like to dance, to which she eagerly agreed.

"You know," Joe said when they had finished their dance, "if you ever happen to be in Bayport, you have to come and visit me."

Iola gave him a mischievous smile. "You might as well have asked me to visit you if I ever happen to be on the moon. I doubt I'll ever just _happen_ to be in Bayport."

"Oh," Joe replied in disappointment.

"But," Iola went on, "if you would invite me, I think it would be a different story."

"Consider yourself as having a standing invitation," Joe told her. "I'll write you every week to remind you of it, too."

"I'll save my money," Iola promised, "and I expect you to come back to Arizona to visit every now and again."

"As often as I possibly can," Joe replied.

Iola's face fell a bit. "Which couldn't possibly be all that often. I don't know that we can really make this work."

"It won't be easy, but we can try," Joe said. "We'll never know unless we try."

"We might just wind up with broken hearts," Iola cautioned him.

"Maybe, but maybe not," Joe told her. "It's worth the risk to me."

NDNDNDNDND

The party flew by in a blur. George spent practically the entire time with Dave. Bess, too, was claimed for practically every dance until she had to insist on sitting a few out, though it wasn't only Bud Moore and Chuck Chase who were vying for her attention. Nancy was asked to dance many times, but after a couple of hours, she quietly made her way outside by herself.

The first thing she did was take in a long breath of cool air – it was almost astonishing just how hot parties could become. The second thing she did was notice Alice Regor sitting on a bench outside and gazing up at the stars.

"What are you doing out here?" Nancy asked her.

"Oh, just trying to spot the constellations," Alice told her. "My father has been teaching them to me. You know, the doctor says he can start walking around in another day or so."

"That's great news," Nancy replied. "What I meant, though, was why aren't you inside enjoying the party?"

"I always used to think that going to a dance would terribly exciting, but it's really not, especially when most people are there so much older than me," Alice told her. "Maybe in a few years I can go to parties like this and enjoy. For now, though, I'd rather just be out here."

"I can't say I blame you," Nancy admitted, sitting down next to her. "I like parties and dances well enough, but…Well, someone I was hoping would be here isn't and now I don't know that I'll get a chance to say goodbye to him."

"There's a few things I don't really understand about this mystery," Alice said, changing the subject. "What exactly happened to Chris Mason? Why was he riding one of Mr. Hamilton's horses?"

"We'll never know for absolutely certain, but the way I figure it is this," Nancy explained. "Mason was up by the cliff houses, maybe looking for some of Mrs. Hardy's cattle, since they go up there sometimes. While he was riding down that steep, narrow path, his horse fell and broke its leg and he had to shoot it. Then he discovered the corral of horses that Morgan was keeping there to work the mine. He must have recognized Mr. Hamilton's brand and figured that either the horses were stolen or Mr. Hamilton was up to something he shouldn't be since he didn't have any business keeping horses there. He took one of the horses so he could ride back to Crowhead Ranch. When he got up to the cliff houses, he must have met Sanders, who might have even been following him in hopes of getting a chance to kill him. Then Sanders forced him to remove his gun belt and then killed him."

Alice shivered. "It's terrible that things like that can happen. I wish someone could do something to make it stop."

"We can all do a little bit," Nancy told her. "The only way anything's going to get better is if we all do as much as we can."

"I hope I can be just like you someday," Alice said.

Nancy grinned in embarrassment. "I hope you can be a whole lot better than that someday. Why don't you show me some of the constellations?"

Alice began pointing them out, and for several minutes, the conversation turned entirely to astronomy rather than detective work. Eventually, Nancy heard the sound of a horse and a cart approaching.

"Who's out there?" she asked, standing up.

"It's just me," a most welcome but unexpected voice replied.

Nancy smiled in delight and rushed forward to meet the driver of the two-person buggy. "Ned Nickerson! You're not supposed to be out of bed yet."

"No, not really," Ned admitted, "but given the circumstances, my parents thought we could make an exception. I don't think I'd better go into the party, but if you'd like a ride back to Shadow Ranch…"

"I'd love it," Nancy replied. "I'll just go tell my father…"

"I'll tell him for you," Alice offered. "You go on ahead."

"Thank you," Nancy told her.

As Alice headed back inside, Ned reached down and helped Nancy up into the buggy. Once they were both settled, he clicked his tongue and the horse started forward.

"I'm glad you came," Nancy said. "I didn't like the idea of going home without one more chance to talk to you."

"I didn't like that idea much, either," Ned agreed. "I suppose you'll be coming back again to visit your friends?"

"Better than that," Nancy said and told him that she and her father were considering moving here. "Of course, that won't be so very nice after if you're not here. Do you think your parents are going to leave?"

"I'm certain of it," Ned replied. "They're already making plans. Like I told you before, my father isn't one for sitting still. I think I could be, though. If you're really coming back here, I think I'd like to stay. To tell the truth, I was thinking about it, anyway. I was planning on seeing if I could find a job on one of the ranches around as soon as I'm up and around."

"It's quite a jump from being a newspaper man to a cowboy," Nancy said.

"Maybe," Ned admitted, "but this is the first place that has ever really even started to feel like home." He fumbled with the reins. "Um, Miss Drew…"

"You can call me Nancy."

Ned grinned. "All right, but then you'll have to call me Ned." He paused. "Nancy, there was a reason I wanted to come and see you and that I was hoping we could be alone. You see, I've never met anyone quite like you before. You're brave and smart and…well, wonderful, but you're not prideful about it. You're so much better than I could ever hope to be, but you don't look down on me."

Nancy took his hand. "You can't really be serious, Ned. You're one of the bravest men that I ever met. When those outlaws broke into the newspaper office to try to force you to tell them about me, you didn't tell them anything, even though they almost killed you. Then you came looking for me, even though you really shouldn't have in the condition you were in, and you saved my life, even though it cost you a great deal. I'll never be able to repay you for that."

"I didn't really have any choice," Ned told her. "Anyone would have done the same."

"That doesn't change the fact that it wasn't easy for you," Nancy replied. "Maybe you've never met anyone quite like me, like you say, but I've certainly never anyone at all like you."

Ned squeezed her hand. "When you come back, may I come and see you often? I'd like to get to know you."

"Yes, please do," Nancy told him. "I'd like to get to know you better, too." She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes with a deep sigh of contentment.

_Author's note: So there we have it. The end of this story. I hope you've enjoyed it even half as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's been a long haul: 80,000+ words and three months. I'm so grateful to all of you who have stuck with me all this time, and all of you who started reading this story later but kept going to the end. It's a great honor to me that you've spent so much of your time reading this and I thank you for it._

_I would also like to thank everyone who followed and/or favorited this story, and especially everyone who left reviews. I try not to be pushy about asking for reviews, so it might sometimes seem that I don't care about them as much as I do. There's really nothing I like better (at least in the fanfiction world) than reading what my readers think of my story, and I'm so very, very grateful to all of you who have or will take the time to leave me a note. Whether you've left one review or many, I greatly appreciate it._

_I'd like to give a special shout out to my four absolute rock star reviewers: Drumboy100, Cherylann Rivers, Rose12, and angelicalkiss. You guys have reviewed practically every single and usually you leave thorough, detailed reviews that really help me see what I'm doing right and where things get confusing or unsatisfying. You're amazing, and I'm appreciative to all of you._

_Before I go, I'd like to note a few things about this story. First off, as I said at the beginning, practically every named character in this story is from the HeR Interactive PC game, _Secret of Shadow Ranch_, the yellow-spine Nancy Drew books,_ The Secret of Shadow Ranch_ and_ The Sky Phantom, _or the blue-spine Hardy Boys book_, The Sign of the Crooked Arrow_. Judge Hart, who appears in one chapter, is from the yellow-spine Nancy Drew book_, The Secret of the Old Clock_ (I think he might have appeared in one or two other books, but I don't remember for sure) and there's also a brief reference to the blue-spine Hardy Boys book_, Hunting for Hidden Gold_. Of course, I played around with these characters', well, characters to some extent, but I can't claim any real credit for the ideas for them. The only true named OCs in this story are the two lawyers, Duncan and Elwood. I needed some terrible lawyers, and there weren't any to be readily had in any of my four main sources. I also want to note that I purposely left a few doors open for a sequel or two. This story has been much too much fun to not at least play around with the idea of a sequel, although I only have the slimmest and shakiest ideas for one at the moment._

_It's always bittersweet coming to the end of a story. I miss the fun of working on that particular story and of getting to know the reviewers even just a little bit, but at the same time, there's always a sense of accomplishment and even freedom, since now I can work on anything I want, or nothing, if that's what I want. This time, it's especially bittersweet, for I'm going to have to take an indefinite hiatus from Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew fanfiction. Now, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere for good. It probably won't be that many months before I come back with a new story, and even before that happens, I intend to spend some of the extra spare time I will now have in catching up on some of the fanfics I've been meaning to read for a while now. Plus, taking a break is really going to recharge my batteries, so hopefully when I do come back, it will be with something that's really great. Still, I'll miss sharing my stories with you in the meantime. I'll be checking my PM inbox regularly, so don't hesitate to drop me a message to say hi._

_Until next time,_

_hbndgirl_


End file.
